


Halcyon Days

by cardboarddoxen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) Friendship, M/M, Slow Burn, i tried this story before and abandoned it but we r rebooting folks, ill add more tags later, keith is a testy knight in the big capital city and lance is a goofball from a small town, medieval fantasy au!! my favorite of the aus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-05 23:43:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15874125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardboarddoxen/pseuds/cardboarddoxen
Summary: A story of discovering identity (an identity his grandma hid from him for twenty years, damn it), a kingdom-wide journey, and a study on inns.In which Lance and Keith find themselves traveling around the kingdom together, and hey, it's not so bad, really.(this is a rewrite!! info in the notes)





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi folks!!! thanks for opening my fic!! 
> 
> SO I first wrote this up about two years ago, and posted it on AO3, but college and life in general happened and I stopped working on it. but for the past few weeks I've been really wanting to give it another shot! so here we are 
> 
> I ended up orphaning the account so you cant find the old version, but I have the old chapters on my tumblr account, which I linked below in case anyone's curious or anything 
> 
> I did change up the story a bit in this rewrite, because one of my issues was that I didn't know how to move forward from the place I was in my old story, so I'm trying to give myself more to work with here. I'm also trying to work in some of the details for the characters that we learned in the recent seasons, because wow. so much happened. 
> 
> the first few chapters also will have a few original characters, really just to move the plot along, but after that it's lance and keith just out here tryna get by in a medieval fantasy world 
> 
> so that's all that, otherwise Im glad to be writing this again and I hope y'all enjoy it!!

Block. Block. _Parry_. Block. Block. _Parry_.

In the three years after receiving his knighthood, this had become Keith’s mantra. The repetition of a good fight drew him in, and over those three years, his skills had sharpened immeasurably. Fighting an actual, responsive human being sure beat swinging relentlessly at the blacksmith’s dummies. Keith had always been proficient with a blade, even back then, but access to royal training grounds helped immensely. He couldn’t make the same claim regarding diplomacy–his sword had always been sharper than his tongue, and he saw no reason to beat around the bush when it came to delivering hard news or speaking his own truth. That certainly hadn’t won him any favor amongst his peers. Keith could recognize that, sure–he even empathized, at times. Most of the time, though, he found himself without pity, whether it be staring down at a speedily-beaten peer with anger in their eyes or keeping his eyes trained on a point in the distance as a knight-commander berated his aloof, isolated approach to battle. He recognized where that anger might come from, but he simply wouldn’t yield to hurt feelings. It was just… who he was. He’d long accepted that he and other people simply wouldn’t get along. That was a fact of life.

The knighthood stuck to a fairly unchanging routine, calling knights of differing stature to the various training grounds surrounding the castle, and for the first half of the day, they could expect to run drills and test their abilities against one another. It kept them on their toes, and helped foster competition among new recruits and those who had been with the knights for longer, but occasionally, personal strife tended to get in the way of constructive training. During these trainings, it could be difficult to tamper emotions and keep pride at bay, so a duel here or there was bound to happen, and it just so happens that Keith was a popular duel opponent. When he swiped the legs out from under a recruit one time too many or ignored the taunting leers of envious peers, not sparing even once glance in their direction, it tended to attract challenges. One knight in particular, Rex, kept a watchful eye on Keith whenever he entered the training yard, and Keith had felt the tension between them rise with every match they fought. He had been observing Keith's movements since Keith arrived, and stepped forward to challenge him for the first time. Keith accepted, as he always did, seeing an opportunity to test his mettle rather than recognizing the heavy pressure growing between them.

They rallied steadily for some time–Keith caught Rex's swipes and ducked away from incoming blows as Rex sliced forward relentlessly, barely taking pause. Rex managed to distract Keith from defending his left side, but as he swung at Keith’s side, Keith jumped backwards. Utilizing the momentum from nearly toppling over, Keith used the pommel to deliver a decisive blow to Rex’s own left hip, knocking him clear to the ground. Rex hit the dirt with a sharp exhale and, rather than standing immediately, rolled onto his back and glared at Keith as he rubbed his hip.

Aside from his tactics in a fight, Keith didn’t know much about Rex. He’d heard Rex had travelled to the kingdom’s capital from a small village to the north, seeking glory and unmatched strength. He was a good soldier, and his immense motivation had fed his growth over the past year; Keith didn’t want to see him shamed, not with the eyes of newer recruits upon them. He extended a hand, keeping a straight face to temper the gnarly scowl fixed on Rex’s. He’d never mistreated anyone he dueled, though he’d seen it done unto others a number of times; Keith had never been able to justify such action, himself.

Rax half-heartedly swiped away Keith’s hand, standing on his own and retrieving his fallen blade. “Lucky. Next time, Kogane.” He grumbled over his shoulder, shuffling back towards the medic’s quarters. Keith watched him limp, nursing his left side subtly.

“Making friends again, I see?" Keith glanced to his left as Takashi Shirogane approached with a teasing nod towards Rex’s back.

Keith rolled his eyes, lips quirking upwards. "I'm just giving the people what they want. _He_ challenged _me_.”

“You may be the only person I know who would accept a duel over a friendly drink,” Shiro admitted, laughing. Shiro really was Keith’s only genuine friend in the barracks, but Keith didn’t mind–how could he? Shiro was able to see past what others recognized as a challenge, from the very beginning, and had won Keith’s trust early on in their friendship. His first year in the knighthood had been brutal, to say the least–there was nothing noble about ganging up on a new recruit after he knocked down opponent after opponent honorably, yet Keith had quickly found himself expecting trouble from groups loitering in the shadows of the castle grounds and keeping alert once dusk fell. Keith kept quiet about altercations outside of their training hours, more inclined to keep low and hope that, eventually, they’d all get over themselves. He even tried seeing the sneers and jabs as a challenge in patience, for a time. Nobody had ever stood up for him, and no ounce of his being expected anyone to–before Shiro, that is. Nobody had ever really cared enough to help him, but Shiro always had. _Unquestionably_. “I didn’t come about that, though. I need to speak with you.”

“What’s on your mind?”

Shiro glanced around the grounds, and gestured towards the castle entrance. It was noon, so most of the soldiers had left to the kitchens, eager to see what the King’s esteemed chefs had come up with for dinner. “Not here. Come to my quarters this evening, we can speak then.” At Keith’s raised eyebrow, he sighed. “I don’t mean to be so secretive, but it’s… sensitive information. Trust me."

Keith measured up Shiro’s expression, nodding. "Alright.”

“Now, I’ve got to go and speak with the quartermaster–somebody shipped in wheat instead of hay for the horses, and you know how he gets,” Shiro patted Keith’s shoulder, “but before I go, you should know that you favor your right arm.” He dodged out of the way as Keith threw a weak punch his direction, guffawing.

When the sun began to settle onto the plains, brushing the castle grounds with amber, Keith set out through the castle to Shiro’s quarters. The castle was nothing short of a labyrinth, and had even earned the nickname of “the Warren” from the workers and soldiers who routinely had to navigate their way around its halls. It was truly a maze of corridors and corners, hallways which often seemed to drop you off no closer to your desired destination. Every wave of new recruits brought rumors, and this year’s had taken to quietly discussing the existence of secret passages in the castle, walls that retracted if you pressed the right stone or trapdoors which would spontaneously activate and deposit you straight into the sewers. Keith really didn’t know where they came up with these ideas. The Warren was home to the High King and his family, the most powerful group of individuals in the entire kingdom, and it certainly reflected the prestige that followed the royal family name throughout the kingdom.

The castle towered above the city, its back to a mountain range named the Devil’s Hand, due to it’s striking resemblance to claws breaking through the earth, and facing outward towards a vast expanse of flatlands, which provided what Keith was sure were the most gorgeous sunsets in the entire kingdom. He’d travelled all around, seen a great many sunsets, but none were quite as peaceful as those viewed from within the Warren’s walls. Keith approached Shiro’s quarters, in a hallway with a couple of rooms for the King’s other advisors, and stopped in front of his door, knocking three times.

The King’s advisors were all apt in their own fields–he entrusted Shiro, Haggar, a sorcerer, and Sendak, a military general, with advising him on the kingdom’s most critical decisions. Haggar brought her knowledge of the arcane, Sendak brought his military skill, and Shiro? Shiro brought experience, having been captured by the neighboring Galran kingdom and kept as a trophy of war for going on two full years. He held knowledge nobody else could come close to claiming, knew how the Galra built their artillery and how they crafted their army. He had been tortured for information while in their land and nearly lost his hand to a Galran witch’s maniacal desire for the ability to defy nature and logic. He said they’d been working on magical enhancements, on weaving energy from spells and will into something they could utilize, a weapon.

They hadn’t succeeded, and were on the verge of relieving Shiro from his arm altogether before Altean forces were able to locate and extract him. Keith still remembered the frigid block of ice in his stomach as they wheeled Shiro through the castle halls, into the medic’s offices and out of sight for nearly an entire week. The door in front of him swung open, and Keith had time to sharply inhale, shaking himself of the memory, before meeting Shiro’s eyes. “Hey, Keith, come on in."

He sat on the couch in front of the fire, tapping his knee impatiently as Shiro collected a couple of drinks and sat down next to him. "I…” Shiro began, searching for the words, “Today I was spoken to by his Majesty directly, and asked to select a knight to send on a mission of utmost importance, to a small village far from the royal capital. His Majesty implored me to find someone capable, someone I could trust, and someone who wouldn’t breathe a word of all of this to anybody before or after the assignment is completely closed.” Shiro glanced over at Keith, eyes open and trusting. “I think that person should be you.”

Keith was quiet for a moment, still unsure of exactly what he was being asked to do. It’d been a long while since Keith had been sent on a mission outside of the walls of the city, though. He was itching to mount his roan and go. “What’s this mission, exactly?”

“His Majesty asked me to locate somebody, a boy from a village called Balmera. You’ll be able to identify him by a scar on his palm, in the shape of the royal family crest. It took me a while to get a decent lead, but I’ve found one of some worth, and when I brought it to his Majesty, he asked me to select somebody to go and look for the boy, and retrieve him. To bring him back to the capital.”

“What could the High King want with… some kid? From a village across the kingdom?” Keith asked suspiciously. “And why would this kid have a brand of the family crest on his hand?”

Shiro sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not sure. I tried to ask, about all of that, but he was… closed off. But I trust him. If he says the boy is important to the kingdom, then I believe we need to find him.”

Keith watched Shiro with steady eyes for a moment, considering. “Alright. What do I need to do?”

Shiro grinned, clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder and laughing breathlessly. “Thank you, Keith. I can always count on you.” He shifted around in his pocket for a slip of paper, and handed it over to Keith. “That’s from the King. It details exactly what the objectives are and how they’re to be seen through. It’s got the best route to Balmera and back, and outlines potentially… less stable areas across the region. Nobody but you and I are to get a hold of that note, Keith.”

“Alright, I understand,” Keith unfolded the missive, scanning it over, and glanced up at Shiro in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. ‘Escort the boy back to Earth from the village of Balmera, unharmed and willing’? How, exactly, am I going to do that?” Keith could rarely convince the other knights in the barracks that he wasn’t looking for a fight. How could he convince some stranger to travel across the kingdom with him? Keith set the note down on the couch, in between them. “Are you certain I’m the best choice for this? You saw what happened with Rex in the training grounds, today–it’s more likely that that’s where this kid and I will end up."

"I know this will be difficult,” Shiro squeezed Keith’s shoulder gently, expression serious. “But it needs to be done, and I believe you’re the best man for the job. Please, Keith. I can't trust anyone else with this.”

Keith frowned, and glanced down at the letter. He hadn’t gone outside the city walls in what felt like ages–the better part of a year, at least. He’d be lying if he said the duels and tension in the barracks hadn’t gotten old, and couldn’t deny that, at this point in his life, there was one person Keith cared about in the world, enough to sway his opinion, and that was Shiro. Shiro was his closest friend, and just as Shiro would entrust him with his life in a heartbeat, Keith had vowed do the same. Shiro had never let Keith down before, and Keith wasn’t about to let Shiro down, either.

“So when do I leave?”

* * *

 

There was nothing quite as beautiful as Lake Melenor once the air begun to cool and the leaves begun to change. It was gorgeous year-round, really, and if you asked Lance, it was the most beautiful place in the entire kingdom. The lake glimmered in sun and moonlight, complimenting the surrounding forest and the colorful array of rocks covering the small beach the lake provided. Lance had spent thirteen years diving to its depths, exploring nooks and crannies and collecting anything of intrigue, and could go on doing so for another thirteen, if he so wished. He’d found gems of all hues, in his time diving around; green like the leaves in the spring and white like the snow that rolled in from the mountains. His favorite, however, were the red ones.

He’d found all sorts of reds–the color of fire in a hearth, of the rug in his grandmother’s sitting room, the color of his hands after he and Hunk would crack open a pomegranate and dig out the seeds… he had every red imaginable. Lance had even found a small jewelry box, once, mostly empty, save for a pearl necklace in shockingly good condition. He’d taken each pearl off the string and handed them out to his cousins, aunts, uncles, and his grandmother. He’d made sure to freeze the moment in his memory, of his cousins awed expressions and his aunt’s fawning, and the way his grandmother looked over at him knowingly, praising his find. Lance’s heart swelled just thinking about it.

The lake’s name–Melenor–had come from the Queen of the city of Jarre, a coastal city southeast of Balmera. Her husband, King Alfor, was the second most influential man in the kingdom, just beneath the High King, in rank. Queen Melenor had fallen ill during the height of summer, and was eventually overwhelmed by the heat of the sun and the sickness. Princess Allura, their beloved daughter, floated her casket out to sea, open-faced and filled to the brim with the pink and white blossoms indigenous to the region around Jarre. Lance had never been to Jarre, himself, but he imagined it to be beautiful, breathtaking to the highest degree. There were many places in the kingdom that, from the word of travelers or books his cousins brought back from their own journeys, Lance could imagine were stunning. Despite this, he had no desire to leave Balmera–the tales he read in books and the sketches of scenery his cousins had collected for him were more than enough. He had plenty in his little, idyllic village.

Lance stripped down to his undercloth, tossing his shirt, pants, and shoes onto a rock further up on the shore, and waded in, his hands skirting atop the water. The water rippled gently, ushering him further and further until it had nearly risen to his chest. He shut his eyes, enjoying the encompassing warmth of the sun paired with the chill of the water. It truly was perfect here, his absolute favorite place in the entire kingdom. Unquestionably. Peaceful, serene, quiet… “Lance! LANCE!”

Not accounting for Hunk, of course.

“Whaaat?” Lance called, unmoving, unwilling to give up his comfort just yet. Hunk stood at the edge of the water, eyeing the small waves distrustfully. He’d fallen in when they were twelve, a slip of the foot on a rock much looser than it had seemed, and refused to dip so much as a toe into the water ever since. He'd been content to sit on the rocks, watching Lance dip and dive while finding treasures of his own amongst the small pools forming around the rocks.

“Hey, Lance, buddy, I know this is your lake time, but your grandma’s kinda looking for you–” Lance groaned–lately his grandmother, the matriarch of the Boticas, his family, hadn’t let him go a day without lecturing him extensively on something. A week ago it was about the “immense importance" of his archery practice, yesterday it was practicing his cooking "for future meals”, and the days in between were more of the same.

He was sure it would be no different here, and wanted to delay it as long as possible. He waded backwards, deeper into the lake, to watch Hunk pace along the shore. “Aw, not right now, Hunk. She’s been hounding me lately, and now she’s even sending in assassins.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head at Hunk. “My own best friend, turning on me for grandma."

"You know I’d do anything for her home-cooked meals, Lance–it’s nothing personal,” Hunk defended himself as he tossed another rock into the lake. “But seriously, it seemed kinda important. Her eyebrows were doing that thing, the worried thing–”

“Huuunk,” Lance laid back in the water, splashing softly with his hands. “Ten minutes. C'mooon."

"Sure, sure,” Hunk shrugged and began collecting skipping rocks.

They lingered at the lake for a while longer, Lance soaking up the scenery as much as he possibly could and Hunk setting a rock skipping record. Observing the clouds in the sky, Lance’s mind wandered to his most recent birthday, his twentieth. In Balmera, at twenty, most were expected to set out on a journey, to drink up wonders of the world outside their tiny town, but Lance held no interest. His family had inquired about it, but when he expressed this disinterest, they didn’t press him. Tradition’s mighty chains couldn’t hold Lance, it seemed! Hunk was only nineteen, but he’d be twenty soon enough. Lance wondered if Hunk would leave on an excursion, where he would go and what he’d do. If he had to set out, if his grandmother refused to relent, Lance was determined to do so with Hunk right there with him. He’d never had such a loyal friend, such a pillar of stability as Hunk had proven to be. Lance defended Hunk from bullies and aggressive squirrels and Hunk slapped every poisonous berry out of Lance’s hand before curiosity could kill the cat. They supported each other and would always be there for one another, thick and thin.

His chest tightened, watching Hunk toss rocks into the water between them, and he waded back to the shore. He sun-dried beside Hunk on the rocks, and once he was completely satisfied he motioned to Hunk to leave. Lance glanced around for his clothes, frowning. They didn’t seem to be anywhere on the shore, and he quadruple checked the rocks he’d sworn he left them on. Odd, Lance thought, scratching his neck.

“Lance, come on,” Hunk groaned, already having walked to the edge of the trees. “I don’t want your grandma to give me that disappointed face, you _know_ the one–”

“Better than anyone, Hunk, believe me,“ Lance snorted. "Just give me… a minute…” He put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes, glancing around, completely befuddled. “I left them right here! Where-“

Twigs snapping to his left alerted Lance to the pair of kids at the edge of the forest, who were further betrayed by uncontrollable giggles as Lance locked onto them. Lance knew that sound anywhere.

“You dastardly hooligans!” Lance hollered dramatically, leaping over the rocks to catch the felons red-handed. They were his younger cousins, Alex and Angel, and were repeat offenders of this very crime. They were infamously mischievous in his family, and messing with Lance had always been their primary form of amusement. Not that Lance particularly minded. His cousins scrambled backwards, towards the village, and Lance sped up his pace. Hunk had doubled over in laughter, Lance’s grandmother forgotten entirely.

“Your cousins got you again?” he wiped a tear from his eyes. "Oh, man, that has to be a record–is anyone keeping track?"

Lance’s clothes had been left behind, at the base of a tree a few paces away, and he hastily threw them back on, shaking the pebbles out of his shoes, and huffed. "Come on, let’s just get going already,” his cousins were out of sight, and with a last look at Lake Melenor, Lance and Hunk made their way back to Balmera. “Nan’s gonna be pissed."

* * *

 

Lance found his grandmother in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as one of her specialty teas brewed, and took a moment in the doorway to take note of her furrowed brow and hunched shoulders, as if carrying a burdensome weight. Her eyes were focused on the steaming tea, but as Lance crossed the threshold, they met his. She had an odd look in her eyes, as if she were looking at an old friend, and Lance’s chest tightened with inexplicable worry.

He cleared his throat and gave his grandmother a little wave. "Hi, Nan, sorry I’m late.”

Isabela Botica, the matriarch and eldest of the Botica family, began pouring the tea into two cups, and placed them on the table in the middle of the kitchen. She lowered into one of the chairs, took a sip of her tea, and gestured to the chair across the table. “Took you long enough, kid. How was the lake?”

“Sorry, Nan, but I’m not a dog,” Lance sat at the table, a small smile on his lips as his grandmother poured him a cup. “You can’t just whistle and expect me to come running.” He paused to take a sip of his tea. “Is this about the archery again? Because I already talked to the blacksmith and he said give me some practice targets, so you don't have to..."

The look in his grandmother's eyes slowed his thought to a stop, the way she was keeping her tension between her shoulder blades and wrung her hands, slow and methodical. Something really was weighing on her mind. She stared at Lance for a moment, considering her options, before shifting her eyes to the window above the stove. ”Lance, there are a few things you need to know. I’ve tried to approach this conversation a few times this week, but I… couldn’t get myself to bring it up. I wasn’t sure how to talk about this with you, wasn’t sure I ever would,” Lance frowned, his thumb drawing small circles on the side of his mug, and Isabela turned her gaze back onto him, “but I’ve decided, it must be done. You must know."

Silence hung heavily between them as Lance tried to think of something to say. "Nan, what's so important that you’re getting all serious?” He laughed awkwardly, leaning backwards onto two of the chair’s legs.

Isabela gave him a soft smile and began to circle the rim of her tea with her index finger. “Ah… I’m trying to figure out where to begin." Fearing the worst, Lance steeled himself, "Give it to me straight, Nan. I can take it."

His grandmother could only sigh shaking her head. "I’m really not sure how to…” She made a noise of frustration, and Lance couldn’t blame her–he’d never seen her this lost for words. She didn’t mince words, and she certainly didn’t skirt around the issue, as she was doing now. “Do you remember your mother, at all, Lance?"

He stumbled over his response, caught off guard, and after a moment of floundering, it became clear he wouldn't manage a direct response to her question. Everything he’d heard about her, he heard from his grandmother–and still, it wasn’t much. Lance couldn’t picture her face nor remember her voice, and had nothing tangible to tie her to. She was as much a mystery to Lance as she seemed to be to everybody else. "We never talk about mom–something’s really wrong, isn’t it?"

"Lance…” She reached across the table and took one of his hands in hers. “I love you, so much. We all do. You’re a beloved cousin, nephew, and grandson, to us, but Lance,” she caught his eye, her hand squeezing his, “you are not a Botica. You’re a McClain."

Lance choked. "I’m sorry, who–?"

But his grandmother had gotten started and couldn’t slow the momentum now. "You were not born in Balmera, and you are not, biologically, a Botica. You’re from our kingdom’s capital and your mother brought you here when you were just an infant, pleading with us to take you in to protect you from those who would wish to do you harm. Lance,” she turned his palm down, her thumb brushing over the scar Lance had grown to hate, “this was not an accident from a visit to the blacksmith’s shop. You were born for more than what’s in our little village."

Lance still hadn’t recovered from the sharpness of hearing his grandmother tell him he wasn’t a part of her family. He couldn’t wrap his brain around what it all meant–he’d expected dire family news, maybe the loss of a family member, given his grandmother’s uncharacteristic beating around the bush, earlier. If what she was telling him was true, however, he may not have been so far off the mark.

"Nan, what are you saying? Really…” Lance's try at nonchalance fell sorely flat–he dropped his eyes to the table, staring at a knot in the wood while he waited for reality to set back in. He didn’t expect the conversation to take such a drastic turn, and his breath was having a bit of trouble catching up, as well. He stared at the brand on the back of his hand and desperately wished it away. “You’ve completely lost me. Did the twins put you up to this? Because bravo, really, you’re doing a bang-up job driving this tale home."

"Lance, please,” his grandmother shook her head, her eyes never leaving his face, “this is no joke. Remember, Lance, we love you. You are family and are always welcome in my house.” She gently brushed over the mark on his hand again. A measure of steel had worked its way into her voice–the uncertainty from before had been replaced with an iron resolve, and Lance’s eyes dropped to the branded family crest. His grandmother continued on. “But you deserve to know where you came from, to have a chance to pursue that knowledge. I can tell you about your mother, put you on a path towards figuring out where you came from, exactly. I can tell you everything I know, or we can put this subject to rest for the day, maybe come back to it when you’re ready,” she paused, unsure of how Lance had taken the information due to his quite uncharacteristic silence, “if you so wish."

Lance’s eyes outlined the family crest burned into his skin, now slightly distorted with time. He clenched his fist.

"Okay, Nan. I want to know."


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith has the best horse and Lance has the worst luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there!!! chapter two here it is wow 
> 
> i realized the point of view may be confusing at times, but once Keith and Lance meet, I'll probably start writing alternating point of view chapters, like keith's view then lance's then keith's and so on 
> 
> but here's the second chapter! i hope yall enjoy !

Keith had never traveled too far north--he’d grown up in a southern town and had lived in the capital, further in the southeast. Being a knight for the royal family didn’t exactly yield free days, but Keith found time to saddle up and find a cove along the sea. His horse, a roan he’d purchased in a village by the capital, would carry him down steep slopes and could keep her footing on the unsteadiest of terrain. She and Keith had bonded over their little trips to the coast, and he could tell she enjoyed her time away from the stables. 

He still remembered the day he bought her. Keith had spotted stables beside a merchant’s shop and, having considered buying a horse just a day beforehand, approached the merchant to get connected with their owner. 

The stable master had an impressive variety of horses available, eager to saddle Keith up with a steed he could ride off into the sunset with, satisfied and sure to pass on a good word to others in the village and on the trails about where he’d just purchased such a fine horse. He lost a bit of gusto as Keith took notice of a strawberry roan, at the far end of the stables. She’d been in his charge for only a year, but had steadily worn his patience thinner and thinner.

She had mainly been having trouble adapting to the new environment, as she’d come from a village much further north and wasn’t used to the hot and humid air. Of course, getting her off of his hands would have been the ideal solution, but the number of customers who took a liking to her uniquely speckled coat only to return demanding,  _quite_  vocally, for a refund had given the stable master reason to be wary. Other problematic tendencies of hers showed themselves, soon enough, and as the size of his village didn’t allow for secrets, nobody could be duped into purchasing her, no matter the price. “What use is a steed that won’t yield when I need it to?” His customers would ask him, and he’d never been able to come up with a good answer to that one. 

Mainly, she liked to kick buckets of animal feed over and anyone who tried to lead her by her reigns could expect to be dragged well across the fields. She was unrideable, unmanageable. Those working in the stables grew  _very_  weary of her  _very_  quickly, and the stable master would be amiss to say he hadn’t begun considering euthanasia, more and more, as of late. A horse kept in stables couldn’t simply be  _released_  into the wild, and with nobody to take her and no time for him to dedicate to finding her a dedicated, willing owner, he was left with little choice. 

“I’d look elsewhere, ser,” the stable master had suggested, chuckling tensely as Keith approached the roan’s stable, clearly showing an interest, “this one is... a bit more trouble than she’s worth. Could I interest you in the Arabian?” 

To the man’s surprise, Keith only had eyes for the roan--she’d kept calmer than the stable master had seen her in months, and didn’t recoil even as Keith reached out to let her sniff his palm. The determination in Keith’s eyes helped alleviate the growing worry in the stable master’s chest, and after a moment’s consideration, he nodded, smiling widely. “She’s all yours.” 

Keith left the village that day on horseback, atop the roan he’d been inspired to name Red, after the red spotting on her coat and her ruby shine in golden evening sun. She was absolutely gorgeous, and although there were setbacks, such as Keith missing food from his pack and her tendency to wander off, picking at intriguing flowers, while Keith wasn’t paying attention, Keith knew she was the steed for him. 

Over the next year, they admittedly hit a few rough patches. For a short time, Red had taken to bucking her hind legs until Keith had no choice but to abandon ship entirely, and had refused to go anywhere before Keith hand-fed her the juiciest apples he could find (she’d refused more than a few bruised apples, in their time together).  As time went on, she grew attached to Keith, and, within the year, began practically shadowing him whenever she could. She carried him great distances and had even started lying down next to him, nearly on top of him, when they made camp after a long day of traveling. He’d been as fortunate to find her as she’d been to find him.  

When he’d saddled her up before departing from the capital, he could tell she was as eager to stretch her legs on open roads as he was. They began their journey at the break of daylight, at the beginning of the week, and managed to chip away at the miles fairly quickly, only needing to travel for a few days before coming across a signpost with the names of surrounding villages, and their approximate distance from that spot. 

Keith was relieved to see that he was a mere couple of miles away from Balmera, another half day’s ride at the most, and, in favor of procrastinating meeting this... random villager until tomorrow, Keith and Red settled into a cozy camp underneath the canopies of a grove of ferns.

Keith wasn’t unused to traveling alone, as the knight-commanders quickly realized that he was much more useful individually than in a team and put him to work on solo missions only someone of high skill and discretion could perform. These solo missions were generally highly confidential and fairly simple, in his experience--he’d been sent to clear out bandits and guard important caravans, which were a bit higher-profile in order to build morale in the kingdom, but his usual assignments were geared towards small favors Keith could help perform without requiring a full team of knights. Delivering missives here and there, following individuals of interest who the knighthood suspected of being involved with the Thieves Guild or troublesome mercenary groups... that sort of thing. 

Regardless, he was fully capable of traveling somewhere, receiving something, and returning posthaste. The only issue he foresaw was actually getting that something back to the capital, unharmed and willing. He was mainly skeptical about the latter part of that equation--Keith’s missions involved a degree of autonomy. Guard the caravan, quiet and alert, or deliver the missive, using whatever means necessary to get it to its destination on time. He never had to...  _convince_  anyone of anything. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to the opportunity. 

Red snorted softly as she tugged persistently at a fern leaf, a few paces away from where Keith had hunkered down, until it broke away from its tree with a snap. He watched her until the sun faded from the sky and a chill swept in clouds to cover the moonlight, falling asleep to crickets’ chirps and Red’s soft munching.

* * *

 Not long after they’d settled in Balmera, a couple of generations back, the Botica family became a pillar of the community. The Botica aunts and uncles were skilled in various fields, such as carpentry, gastronomy, and smithing, and brought enough value and stability to the village to expand on necessary functions, such as the inn and the forge and a more secure route for trade, while managing to avoid overcrowding and observe, while assisting when necessary, the politics of the town. 

They lived in one of the larger houses, up the hill from the village center, at the edge of the forest. Balmera was a consistent village, with folks who knew each other well and kept to a simple routine of do good work and enjoy your time with others, which fostered a charitable, companionable air throughout the town. The surrounding wilderness had always been kind to the village, granting more sunny days than not while missing that dreadful humidity they felt in the south. Balmerans generally knew what to expect from their environment, save for the occasional roaring thunderstorm. They happened a few times a year, really, and were out of sight and mind otherwise, but when the thunder began to crack and rain began to fall? Nothing could clear the streets quicker. 

This is precisely why someone pounding at their door at the peak of the storm, with lightning seeming to freeze time in place and thunder shaking the foundations of the Earth, had thrown the Boticas into confusion. 

As the owner of the house and respected matriarch, the adults had looked to Isabela Botica for guidance. As she climbed to her feet and moved quickly to the door, Isabela instructed various family members to retrieve towels, tea, and to double check that the house was secure, as one could never be too careful when caught in a thunderstorm in Balmera. 

Isabela opened the door to a woman, shivering underneath a soaked navy cloak and clutching a shrouded bundle to her chest. As the lightning struck, Isabela could see her eyes, strikingly blue but red with tears and sunken with exhaustion. Her voice was hoarse and urgent, panicked and loud as thunder rumbled around them. “Please, ser--this child needs reprieve from the storm. I can give you anything I have, just  _please_ , help this child.”

“Of course, dear--come inside, hurry,” Isabela gestured inside, glancing back to see tea steaming on the coffee table and towels in a pile on the couch. “You’re welcome to stay until the storm has passed.”

The woman choked out a sob, shaking her head. “Oh,  _thank_  you, you’re a blessing, but I’m unable to take him any-” 

Somewhere further down the road, in the direction of the village center, the pair heard shouting, and as Isabela squinted into the night, aided by the illuminating lightning, she spotted what seemed to be five figures. They seemed to be making their way upwards, in the direction of the Botica house. 

Isabela turned her attention quickly back to the woman as she moved closer, a desperate look in her eyes, and held her child out towards the eldest Botica. “ _Please_ , take my son! I can’t stay with him any longer.”

A wail erupted from the bundle in her arms as another round of thunder and lightning struck their village, and, understanding she needed to act quickly, Isabela reached out to cradle the child in her arms. Burrowed in the blankets, an infant with his mother’s piercing eyes peered up at her, teary and quite understandably unhappy with his current situation. His wet hair stuck to his forehead and his small hands gripped the shroud around him.

“Be reasonable--you can’t stay outside in these storms, come inside and we’ll-“

“No, please,  _listen_  to me,” the woman begged as she placed one of her two knapsacks at Isabela’s feet--presumably, the child’s belongings. Isabela shivered. “My name is Teresa McClain. My name holds no weight in any part of the kingdom. I have no reward to offer for this  _immense_  favor, but please, I beg of you, keep my son Lance safe.”  Thunder roared in their ears and Isabela watched the cloaked figures make their way from the direction of the inn to the smithy, much closer to the Botica household. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on, here, but any activity in a storm of this measure was beyond foolish. She couldn’t, in good conscience, allow this woman to flee into dangerous conditions, yet... “Please.”

“We will protect him. You have my word.” Isabela assured, holding Lance closer. A sob wracked the woman’s shivering frame, followed by a string of gratitudes. She pressed feather soft kisses to her son’s cheeks and his forehead, grabbing his hand and pressing his small palm to her cheek, weeping I love you and be goods. "Goodbye, my love,” she managed through tears, before thanking the Botica matriarch one last time and jogging halfway down . the slope, to the center. 

The wind howled, pained and deafening, and Isabela turned back into the house. She made her way to the window and watched as the woman, having caught the attention of the cloaked figures, sprinted into the woods at the edge of the village.

Lance had grown quiet, momentarily reassured by his mother’s kisses and soft croons, and began patting his tummy, eyes searching curiously, small head turning to see everything he could. One of Isabela’s daughters and her husband took Lance at Isabela’s request and sat with him on the couch as they checked him over for any injury. The children of the household crowded around him, and as his laughter rang through the sitting room, Isabela glanced back out the window, where the streets had once again gone still.

Isabela had connected with multiple informants since the event, payed countless fees for information which had ended up getting her no closer to the truth. She continued to search for answers throughout Lance’s childhood, but had come to the very conclusion that had made bringing Teresa up with Lance so difficult. Since that day, nobody had seen even a trace of Teresa McClain.

* * *

 “What are you saying?” Lance spoke through cotton, overwhelmed with the information and stricken with the extremity of it all. He’d always lived in Balmera, grown up here, belonged here. Balmera was his home, these people his family. He’d never been spoken to straight regarding his mother, a source of much of his adolescent frustration, but from what little the adults were willing to give, he’d inferred that an awry epedemic had been the cause of her demise. Not... murder, at the hands of multiple suspicious individuals during a life-threatening storm. That was... the  _opposite_  of Lance had lived believing. It couldn’t be. “This isn’t... this is so... Grandma, I don’t understand.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “What are you saying happened to her?” 

“Lance... I know this is hard. But... I don’t believe your mother made it, that night. You’ve seen the storms we get, you know of their strength.” She must have seen the anguish in Lance’s expression, as she reached out and grabbed his right hand in both of hers. “Your mother gave her life for you to live. That is what I believe. I have tried to find answers, believe me, but no lead I’ve followed has ever led to the truth."

“Leads? What did they find out?” Lance was shaking, but his grandmother pressed on. He was grateful for the stability she was exuding--it may have been the only thing keeping him from sprinting out the door to... somewhere. Lance felt an unfamiliar urge to just...  _go_. 

“I could only find confirmation for what she told me--she was from the capital, and her name was Teresa McClain. I couldn’t find where she was going to, or running from, but I could find the name of an inn where, according to my informant, many of the staff knew her name.” His grandmother hesitated, lowering her eyes. “I thought you should know. You can do with this information what you wish, I just ask that you don’t breathe a word of this, to anybody. Your mother was hiding you for a reason, Lance, and discretion just may be enough to keep you safe.” 

Anger flickered to life inside Lance’s stomach, and he dropped her hand, his blue eyes alight with fury. “You thought I should--bull _shit_ , you thought I should know. Why not before, Nan? It’s been  _twenty_  years.” He pushed back from the table, his voice growing to a shout. “And you want me to promise I won’t  _tell_  anyone?" Lance's voice shook. "I mean... come on, Nan.”

All at once, Lance needed to leave. He’d heard enough, sat statue-still through the entire story and couldn’t keep this sudden vibrating energy at bay any longer. He carded his hands through his hair and strode out of the kitchen, into the hall, out the door. He ran for the woods. 

* * *

Keith rose shortly after the sun, taking a moment to drink in the warm breeze brushing through the grass and watch Red poke her nose into the bushes a few feet away, ever curious. 

Keith pulled Shiro’s note from his pocket, holding it above his face as he scanned the words again. It was a basic instructional note, giving him the location of Balmera and explicitly ordering the return of the boy to the capital through as peaceful means as possible. Keith had been considering who this kid could possibly be, on the ride up--a nobleman’s runaway son, perhaps, or a clergyman’s bastard? Keith just couldn’t justify sending someone after him, using up time and resources for one person. And the confidentiality? None of it added up. 

Though he didn’t understand the objective, he’d recognized the determination in Shiro’s eyes, that evening by the fire. Keith had long admired Shiro’s drive, his dedication to the tasks he undertook. Keith had experienced it firsthand--Shiro had shown a much younger, much more hopeless Keith the same inner fire before, urged him to get up, try again, keep going not because it was the right thing to do, but because he  _deserved_  it. Keith hadn’t given much thought to what he deserved--rather, he’d been of the mind that one’s lot was perfectly indicative of what they deserved. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Shiro had simultaneously middled and electrified his life perspective, and Keith was positive that was better than the mindset he’d had before. 

Keith didn’t much like dwelling on the past, though--he wasn’t that young kid, anymore, and he’d proven it through years of grueling training with the knighthood. He’d never be caught saying this within castle walls, as many were highly devoted to the royal family and he didn’t need another target added to the dozens on his back already, but he wasn’t so much protecting the royals as protecting Shiro’s ideals and the ideas that had saved him--that the power of never giving up, the skill of persistence, would inevitably yielded peace and stability.

Hauling himself onto his feet, Keith collected his things and saddled up Red, preparing for their short journey to Balmera. He clipped his bags to Red’s saddle, a fine accessory he’d found at a peddler in the capital. Altean tailoring had been heralded past its kingdom’s borders, and though Keith wasn’t as moved by it as some of the stablehands at the castle had clearly been, he could admit it made Red look all the sleeker. 

A small, round beetle, black with green tinge in the sunlight, hopped from a branch above Keith’s head onto the saddle, next to his hand. They were curious bugs, Keith had been encountering them more and more as he made his way up north, but didn’t have the patience to prevent him from swiping the beetle clear off of Red. He’d never been a friend of bugs, himself--too many legs, too many eyes, and  _far_  too small for his comfort. He preferred a creature he could actually  _see_ from a distance, thank you very much. 

He heaved a sigh and patted Red’s back before jumping up on to the saddle and heading further down the road, in the direction of the village.  


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance makes a decision, while Keith struggles to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys here's the third chapter!! a friend visited recently, so it took me a bit longer, but it's here ! I'll probably post it and then revisit it in a day or so to fix any grammar or spelling mistakes with fresh eyes, so sorry for any awkward errors or phrasing!! this chapter is also pretty much the last of the exposition, so from here on out it's lance and keith on a mf journey!!!! very exciting 
> 
> thank you for reading, and for the comments as well!! they always make me smile :) 
> 
> mario voice: HERE WE GO

_Nothing_  was going right today. Lance swore fate was slighting him, more and more with every arrow he shot into the dirt. 

He hadn’t been lying when he told his grandmother he’d been practicing his archery, per se, but he was beginning to realize that slinging the straightest twigs he could find into Lake Melenor with his shitty, makeshift bow didn’t necessarily count. As each and every one of his arrows fell short of the practice dummies out behind the forge, Lance’s frustration grew. He pulled the arrows his uncle, the town blacksmith, had given him to practice with back just the way he’d been shown, and watched as they fell short every time, without fail. Or, he supposed, with immense fail.

Once he reached the end of the quiver, Lance tossed the bow to the side and sat back against the wall of the forge, his legs outstretched and his palms rubbing at his eyes. Thinking only seemed to muddle him further, and yet couldn’t seem to  _stop_. He’d asked his grandmother for the information, and yet couldn’t help but feel as though he should have left it all alone. Now, there was no way to just... be as he had been before. He couldn’t erase the knowledge from his brain, couldn’t shake the image of his mother, a woman he couldn’t even picture, running from... someone. Debt collectors, maybe? Maybe she had crossed paths with the Thieves Guild and managed to get on their bad side. Lance had heard stories of the guild, had a pretty good idea of what they did to those that fell out of their good graces. He groaned, now wanting to think about it. 

“I’d say you’re getting better, but... well, you know.” 

Lance glanced up at his uncle, a man named Marius with salt and pepper hair and a gentle disposition, and huffed. He was referring to the dozen arrows sticking out of the dirt beneath one of his practice dummies, none even close to striking the target. “Who said I wasn’t  _aiming_  for the ground?” Lance crossed his arms, knowing that he must look like a grumbling child and caring all the less. “It’s a new technique, pretty advanced, only the best archers can do it.” 

“Oh, sure, and I’m the queen of Altea.” His uncle lowered himself to side beside Lance on the ground, grunting as his knee popped at the movement, the old man. Surely, sitting in the smith all day, grinding out new weapons and armor for anyone who asked, was difficult work. Marius glanced over at Lance with a steady gaze. “What’s on your mind, kid?” 

Lance picked at the blades of grass beside him, sighing. “Nothing, I just...” He tried to find a path around the topic, not wanting to have to repeat what had just been thrown onto him an hour earlier, but realized with a start that his uncle must not be entirely clueless, either. “You know about my mom, right? You were there.” 

His uncle looked surprised, for a moment, and opened his mouth to respond, but Lance pressed on before he could get out a syllable. The look in his uncle’s eyes, the way his jaw set as if he was steeling himself for an oncoming impact. 

“I mean, you must know, because according to grandma, my mom dropped me off like a basket of bread and ran off into the night, mysteriously disappearing during a  _thunderstorm_ ,” Lance’s voice shook, slightly, and he cursed his nerves. “She said you were all there, you all just watched her leave--I mean, why didn’t you  _try_ \--” White-hot anxiety bloomed in his chest as his voice hitched, and Lance swallowed thickly, cutting himself off. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get a damn grip. 

“So, she finally told you,” Marius sighed, heavy. Silence hung between them, for a moment, and Lance wondered if he’d just dropped the conversation entirely until his uncle stood and pushed off from the wall, jogging towards Lance’s haphazardly shot arrows. He plucked the arrows from the ground. “I wish I had something better to say,” he admitted, chuckling, “but what happened to your mom confused all of us as much as it’s confusing you, right now. She was in trouble,  _someone_  was after her, but we weren’t sure who. We’ve always helped keep Balmera out of trouble--we’re a hotspot for bandit activity, did you know that?” 

Lance shook his head. 

“Well, we are. We hear word of them, sometimes, just lingering in the trails around Balmera, but they  _never_  come down into town. Too risky--they know we’ve got good men and women here, ready to defend each other at a moment’s notice.” His uncle brought the arrows back over to Lance, depositing them in the grass between them. “Those guys... whoever was chasing her, they were dangerous, Lance. We couldn’t risk the village, and your mother was insistent in keeping you safe. That’s  _all_  she wanted, actually--for you to be safe from whatever it is she was running from.” 

“But you could have--she could have  _lived_!” Lance insisted angrily, throwing his hands up. “And for there to be  _no_  information about her, or her family, anywhere? I mean, what does that make me? I don’t--I just can’t...” Lance couldn’t finish the thought, a chill run down his spine. He grew quiet, looking down at his feet. “What am I supposed to do now?” 

“Lance, I know you must know this, but we  _are_  and will  _always_  be your family.” His uncle clapped a hand down onto his shoulder, beaming. Lance realized, as the anxiety in his chest lifted slightly, that maybe that’s all he was afraid of, that maybe by gaining knowledge of his real mother, he was losing the family that had felt so real for so long. Marius handed Lance an arrow, and reached down to pick up his bow, as well. “But sometimes, we have to come to terms with things that are confusing, and upsetting, because that’s all you can do. Right now, the way I see it, you have a choice to make,” Marius raised his left and right hands, imitating a scale. “You can either continue living here in Balmera, leaving the McClain name alone and focusing on your future here, or you can leave Balmera to gain knowledge, to search for the truth of where you came from. Either way,” he passed Lance his bow, “you’re always welcome here. You know that, yeah?” 

Lance stalled for a moment, unable to speak, and elected to grab the bow and look down at the arrow in his left hand. He turned it over in his palm a few times, his thumb rubbing the edge of the arrowhead, before looking back up at Marius. “Yeah, I do. Thanks, Uncle Marius.” Lance laughed, thankful for his uncle ignoring its watery lilt, and cleared his throat. “What do  _you_  think I should do?” 

Marius shrugged, shaking his head. “I couldn’t say, really. These aren’t easy decisions--it’s not the same as when you have to choose how many pieces of bread to shove into your mouth in the morning.” 

Lance made an indignant noise, but Marius continued before he could comment. “I’d say, though... you can always come back to Balmera, so why not give it a try?” Marius shrugged. “At any rate, if you decide to go, swing by before you head out, yeah? I have a horse you could use for the journey.” 

Lance couldn’t deny the pull inside his chest, the little glimmer of hope he couldn’t seem to shake--what if? If he did choose to go, what might he find? The possibility was both electric and paralyzing. 

He wasn’t sure what to say, at this point, overwhelmed with the entire situation at hand. He settled for another thanks, smiling as his Uncle reached out to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. He held up the arrow in his left hand. ”Any tips for shooting these things?” 

“Focus on your aim and be patient in the release,” Marius put his hands on his hips and looked around at the dummies, then at Lance. “Peace of mind is  _essential_ , here.” 

Lance sighed. That explained a lot--peace of mind was in pretty short supply for him, right now. 

“I’ve got to get back to the forge,” Marius stretched his hands above him, groaning, “I’m making your friend Hunk’s dad a new chest-plate for his journey to the capital, and he needs it by tonight.” 

“What’s Hunk’s dad going all the way to the capital for?” 

Marius shrugged, watching a pair of finches chase each other above the tree canopies. “Couldn’t tell ya, but I want to finish it soon, so,” he saluted Lance and began making his way back inside, “good luck with the archery--you’re gonna need it.” 

Lance stuck out his tongue and resisted the urge to toss the arrow his uncle’s direction, and turned back towards the practice dummies, considering his uncle’s words. He raised the bow and pulled the arrow until the bowstring was taut, breathing into the tension before releasing. The arrow sailed further than any of its predecessors had, but flew directly over the dummy and sunk itself into the trunk of a tree, a few paces behind. Lance heaved a sigh, placed the bow and the arrows his uncle had collected by the door, and set off in the direction of Hunk’s family’s house. 

* * *

Keith was getting to the end of his rope with these beetles. 

They were  _everywhere_ , up north--he really didn’t know how people lived with them. He could deal the snakes and the wasps and the circling crows, but these beetles were going to be the end of him. They didn’t seem to be bothering Red, too badly, but he felt one on his cheek and promptly shouted a garbled mesh of curses, rubbing his hands over his face vigorously. 

The knowledge that they were only a few miles away had heightened Keith’s impatience with the beetles. He was sure they were close, though--he’d looked at the note from Shiro earlier, utilized the small, simple drawing of a map on the bare side to navigate his way around highwaymen. Shiro had helpfully marked where their scouts had noticed higher risk of running into a bandit, or ten. In Keith’s experience, there were normally ten. 

One could get lucky, running into a bandit duo or trio rather than a whole horde, but Keith wasn’t as itching for a fight as he was determined to finally get into this village (and away from these beetles). 

So, he’d avoided the two hotspots on the trails leading into Balmera, and was on his way. He’d have to make sure that, on the way back with this kid, they steered clear of any trouble--just thinking about it had Keith heaving a sigh. He didn’t mind fighting a few foes while outside of capital walls, himself, but unless this kid was a skilled fighter, Keith had a feeling he’d be more deadweight than traveling companion. 

He’d dealt with missions like this once or twice before--they hadn’t been quite as highly critical to the King, sure, but he’d escorted a nobleman’s children from a week-end in the countryside, or guarded a particularly significant merchant from the capital to his homestead, or something else of the sort, before. These were all insurance policies, really--the king assured safety for the noblemen and the merchants who had the means of noblemen, and in return they brought their coin, their business. They helped keep the city, and the kingdom, running, at least monetarily. Keith couldn’t speak to the politics, but he tended to keep out of those discussions, anyways. 

The trail’s descent into the town was in sight, now, merely a few meters away, and Keith steeled himself. He’d have to keep a low profile, so he discarded his gauntlets and chainmail, shoving them into a pouch on Red’s saddle, and slid his sword into a bag on the other side, trying to obscure it as much as possible. He didn’t get the feeling he’d need to use it, and had a treasured dagger sheathed obscurely around his hip, underneath his dark tunic. His boots would be fine, with the armor removed and his sword gone from his side, and the match of Keith’s favorite black tunic and his dark pants helped him to pass easily as a common citizen, rather than a trained guard for the King. Many were grateful for the Knight’s service, but many were also highly distrustful--Keith had been jeered at more than a few times, himself. 

He reached for his dagger, running his thumb along the carvings on the hilt, then grabbed the reins as they came to an opening in the trees and began to follow the trail down into the valley. He could see Balmera, now--it was tucked in between the trees, and only a half a mile from a large, emerald lake he couldn’t help but gawk at. It was gorgeous, quite simply--he’d just need to get through this steep bit and then he’d be in the clear, a mere ten minutes from the city’s edges. 

Keith really wasn’t sure what the best course of action was, here. He’d been stewing on it all day, trying to carve out the best option from the confusing multitude of possibilities. He’d come to the conclusion that whatever he did would depend on the kid’s reaction, that either he’d want to come or he wouldn’t. If he did, Keith would possibly shout with joy. If he  _didn’t_ , Keith would need to improvise. 

Battle improv? Sure. _No_ problem. 

Social improv? No thanks. _Big_ problem. 

Keith sighed, rubbing his hand up and down Red’s neck as the ground evened out. Regardless of all of that, Keith needed to stay discreet and keep to the plan he... didn’t have. 

Keith sighed again, louder. Red snorted. 

His first goal was to get information, and there was no better place to find information in a small town like this one than the inn. A village’s inn was where travelers and locals could meet over a pint, and occasionally they even had a talented chef in the back serving up various plates. The barkeep had all the info one could hope to find, generally, and if they weren’t willing to give, you could always find a boisterous drunk patron or two with something to say. Not always of value, sure, but it was better than nothing. 

Keith dropped Red off by a group of stables just outside of the town’s entrance and made his way through the winding street, noting the subtle signage on his way to the inn. It was a warm close of the day in Balmera--the sun streamed through the few gaps in the thick canopies of the trees bordering the town, and plenty of the villagers out and about seemed to just be meandering, enjoying the evening. Keith glanced around at the various activity, the carpenter lugging a box of tools down the street, passing a baker with an armful of flower--even behind the blacksmith’s forge, Keith watched a boy fire a series of arrows directly into the ground. He snorted and ducked his head, turning towards the inn, now visible on the other side of the village square. 

The inside of the inn was warm upon entry--large windows with yellow glass cast a golden light upon the tables in the center of the inn, and illuminated the bar, embedded with various sparkling gemstones. The floor was a glossy oak, similarly to the tables and chairs, and the walls were aligned with various bottles of ale and whiskey, some newer and some more antique. The shelves, themselves, were made from some type of gemstone-embedded glass, and Keith mused that there must be someone in the village who specialized in procuring and embossing the glass and wooden furniture with gemstones in the village. It looked like careful work, and Keith had seen a couple of stones with similar color to the ones in the bar and the shelves, on his way in. 

Keith’s eyes lingered for a moment, appreciating the beauty of the carpentry, and he made his way to a table in the very back of the inn, just inside a small alcove. He liked to be absolutely sure there was nobody behind him, in most situations, and preferred to gain some observational information before engaging anyone directly. 

This time, that didn’t seem like much of an option, though, as Keith turned his head and spotted someone coming over to him, pad of paper and a small pencil in hand. Keith knew, from a few of his travels, that some inns were more of a... walk-in situation, whereas others had cooks and attendants who would make sure you were happy and, of course, well-fed and -drunk. 

“Hi, there,” the man stopped in front of Keith’s table, with shining brown eyes, tan skin, and dark hair, kept out of his eyes with a thick orange headband. He had some weight to him, both in width and in height, and seemed to exude a jovial, convivial air. “The name’s Hunk--can I get you something from the kitchen? We have plenty of vegetables to grill and just brought some chicken in, today.” 

Keith felt himself stall--his mouth prepared to say no, but his stomach interrupted with a low grumble, and Keith settled on an order of grilled vegetables, with a glass of water. The kitchen-hand took his order back to the cook, and Keith busied himself with a quick scan of the room--if he were lucky, he’d spot someone with a burn mark on their right hand, around his own age as the letter detailed, and they’d be on their way.

Keith never really seemed to get lucky. 

The bulk of the inn’s patrons were burly men and women, all engaged in equable conversation, relaxing in each others company. Keith could pick up various bits and pieces of conversation here and there, about the tricks of carpentry or the fishing business at this time of year, but couldn’t grasp anything substantial. He wasn’t even sure what to listen for, really--it wasn’t as if anybody would just be chatting about this elusive boy with the scarred hand, anyways. He’d have to do some actual digging--in a small town like this one, he wasn’t exactly sure how to go about doing so without coming across as incredibly suspicious. Keith had been to villages like this one, before, and knew how closed off the locals could be to outsider prying. 

The kitchen hand returned with keith’s order, a small plate of root vegetables sautéed in some type of thick sauce with a glass of water, and before he could turn to leave, Keith caught his attention. 

“So--uh,” Keith searched for the right way to begin his subtle interrogation, “what is there to do here, around Balmera?” 

“Not from around here?” The boy questioned, smiling widely. “There isn’t much, really. Lake Melenor is a few minutes north of here, and we’ve got some shops on this street, and then this inn. The food here is the best in the north, though--we have our own King approved chef, here.” 

Keith raised his eyebrows. “Really? All the way out here?” 

The boy chuckled and scratched the back of his head. “I know! He’s my pop, actually--been to the capital a few times with him to cook for the fancy nobles and whatnot. He makes a mean steak, if you find room for that after your veggies.” 

Keith nodded slowly, considering what to ask next, when the boy asked his name. Before he realized, he was blurting his full name. “Keith Kogane. And yours?” 

“The name’s Hunk! Good to meet you, Keith,” he reached out and shook Keith’s hand. “So what brings you to Balmera?” 

“Uh,” Keith began lamely. “Just... business.” 

Hunk’s eyebrows raised, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. “Where are you coming from? Not many people come out here if they don’t have to--the mountain-y journey is a lot for most people.” He squinted his eyes at Keith, an easy tease in his tone. “But you don’t really seem like most people.” 

“I, well,” Keith stumbled, trying to come up with a good excuse faster than the conversation was progressing and failing miserably. He hadn’t thought of a good cover story, really--he’d planned on denying any affiliation with the King, and that was about it. “I’m just here for... I’m looking for an old friend. We write each other, sometimes--said he was living up here last I talked with him.” 

“Oh!” Hunk’s eyes lit up. “We pretty much all know each other, around here--what’s the last name?” 

Keith’s brain buffered. He really wasn’t prepared for this. His eyes flickered to the bar. “Glasson. It’s Glasson.” 

Hunk’s face fell. “Oh, I don’t recognize that name...” He scrunched his face up, thinking, and Keith saw his chance. 

“You may have noticed him--he’s got a burn on his hand, kind of looks like the royal crest. He’s around our age... that sort of guy.” 

Hunk’s eyes flickered to Keith’s, and for a moment he was eerily still, before he shifted his weight on his feet. “Well... there’s a guy like that in town, actually, but he’s not a Glasson. He’s never really left the village, either, so I doubt that’s who you’re looking for.” 

Keith’s breath caught. Was he close? “What’s the last name?”

Hunk hesitated. “It’s Botica.” 

Keith noted the name, and made a show of leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. “Oh, no, must be a different guy, then.” 

Hunk smiled, nodding, before gesturing to Keith’s veggies. “Man--well, I hope you find your guy! Let me know if we can get you anything else--it’s on the house!” As Keith began to object, Hunk held a hand up, shaking his head. “Really! We rarely get interesting strangers, around here--it’s on us!” 

Hunk left Keith to his veggies, and he thought on what he’d just learned. The boy was (potentially) a Botica. He  _did_  live here. He was close. Keith couldn’t believe his luck. 

He ate his plate of vegetables, pleasantly surprised with the sauce and the nuance in their cooking, and, after taking a few more moments to observe the inn’s regulars, he made his way out into the evening’s glow. 

* * *

Teresa McClain. That was hardly anything to go by.

He’d thought on what his uncle had said to him, back at the forge. Whoever had been chasing his mother that fateful evening had intended to gravely hurt her, or worse. They were not common bandits, and must have had a reason to stalk her all the way into the village during a god damned  _thunder_ storm. If she was in such danger, who’s to say where that left Lance? 

He’d made his way to Hunk’s after meandering around the village square for a bit, observing people he’d grown up around doing the things they’d done every day since he could remember. His heart yearned for his brain to forget everything he’d learned in the past day, go back to simpler times. It was hard to imagine that simpler times were a mere twenty four hours ago. Lance clenched his fist and rapped on Hunk’s front door, three times.

There was a beat of muffled conversation, and Hunk answered curiously, gnawing on a chicken leg. “Lance! What’s up, buddy? Want to come in? We just started eating.”

Lance chuckled, intending it to sound... less dried and dulled than it did. “No, thanks, buddy--do you have a minute, though? We, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, “we gotta talk about some things.” 

Hunk nodded slowly, stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind him. His chicken leg was forgotten in his right hand, hanging by his side. “Hey, sure. You know I’m here for you any time, Lance. What’s going on?”

“Can we, uh,” Lance gestured to the steps up to Hunk’s door, “could we sit? I think I need to sit. It’s a lot. You’ll... probably want to sit, too.” 

Hunk followed suit, sitting beside Lance and nibbling quietly at the chicken leg, as Lance launched into his story. He retold the story, essentially verbatim, unable to mince words or hide facts when talking with Hunk, and pushed through the wide-eyed, concerned looks until the very end of the story. Hunk seemed... confused, he didn’t get it, how could he? He was- Lance couldn’t tell exactly, there was something indiscernible in his expression, in the pinched way between his eyebrows or the thinness of his lips, pressed together in heavy thought. 

“So...” Hunk’s mouth opened and closed a couple of time before he landed on an actual phrase, “your mom was chased by hooded guys during a thunderstorm? And then just kind of...  _gave_  you to the Botica family?” Hunk shook his head. “I mean, who goes outside during a thunderstorm? In the south you could, sure. But here?”

“Exactly!” Lance threw up his hands. “I… can’t explain.”

Hunk hummed, regarding him with a measured stare. "Hey, are you okay? This is... kind of really heavy stuff. I mean, your mom...” He trailed off, unsure of where to even begin.

“Yeah, I--I don’t know, Hunk.” Lance admitted, feeling pitiful as his shoulders slouched with the weight of just  _how much_  he was ignorant of. “I don’t know why she was here, I don’t know who those people were, and I don’t know why they would have been chasing her. I don’t know any of it. But,” Lance turned his gaze on Hunk’s, looking him directly in the eyes despite the building anxiety in his chest, “I know I have to do something. I have to figure out who she was. What she was  _doing_  here, at least.” 

Hunk held his gaze for a moment before turning towards the trees. He raised the chicken leg up and chewed at the skin for a few moments as silence fell between them. “So, how are you planning on doing that, exactly?” 

Lance shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe check out the library your pop has at the inn, ask around town, see if anybody knows anything. Maybe write to somebody, get in contact with a historian in the capital?” 

Hunk shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, I guess that could work.” 

Lance sighed. “I don’t know.” He slapped a hand onto Hunk’s back, managing a grin. “But hey! I have you here to help me do some research--you’ve always been better at knowing where to look for things, and all that. With your help, we should have answers in no time!” 

Hunk began to fidget with a button on his vest, not meeting Lance’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, well.... I’ve, uh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about... somethin...” Hunk trailed off, and Lance’s frowned. 

“What is it? You can tell me anything, buddy.” 

“I--well, gee, I don’t really know how to, uh--” 

“Spit it out, Hunk! I can take it,” Lance gave an anxious laugh,. 

“I’m going to the capital with my dad. In four days.” Hunk blurted. He cast a glance over at Lance and, upon seeing his raised eyebrows and slack jaw, quickly looked down at the ground. “Oh, man. I said I wouldn’t do this.” It took Lance a moment to notice the tears pooling in Hunk’s eyes, and the realization set in. 

“Wait, you’re what? You’re going to the capital?” His mind caught up with the conversation and he swung around, lifting his hand to point at nothing in particular. “My uncle was making new armor for your dad, for the trip--why are you going all the way out there?” 

Hunk sniffled. “My dad goes to cook with some of the best cooks in the kingdom, once every few years--I guess they all meet up someplace, sharing secrets and recipies and buying new ingredients. He likes to get this root from the south, you can’t get it anywhere up here.” 

“Right,” Lance said slowly, “but why are  _you_  going?” 

 “Well,” Hunk looked up towards the sky, chicken leg hanging limply, “I think I might want to be a cook. My dad’s a cook, my mom’s a cook, I mean...” He lifted a shoulder and glanced at Lance, a smile on his lips. “Even my grandparents, Lance--it’s in my blood! And, well, I mean, what better way to learn than to actually  _cook_  with these guys?”

“I... guess,” Lance could feel himself wilting, further weighed down by the prospect of his best friend leaving Balmera. “How long will you be gone?” 

“In the past, he’s been gone for a few weeks, sometimes over a month. It could be a while.” 

“Wha--a  _month_? Why--” Lance’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat, putting a hand to his chest. “A whole  _month_.”

“Maybe more,” Hunk added helpfully, sheepish.  

Lance groaned. “Oh, man. I didn’t expect that.” He leaned back on his palms and stared up at the sky, urging the stars to sympathize with him. Lance was having a  _really_  bad day. 

“I’m sorry, man, I should have told you sooner, but I just--couldn’t.” Hunk sighed. “But hey--I’ll keep an eye and an ear out for your mom, while I’m there!” 

Lance nodded, smiling softly. “Thanks, buddy. And, hey--it’s okay, I’m just surprised. Here I am, talking about my stuff when you’re about to have an adventure of your own.” He shook his head. Silence fell between them, Hunk munching on the sparse remains of the chicken leg and Lance staring up at the sky, his thumb tapping the stone beneath them. 

“So... are you really going to stay in Balmera?” Hunk asked quietly. 

Lance exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. “I... I don’t know, Hunk.” He turned to his most trusted advisor in the world, eyes asking. “What should I  _do_ , Hunk? What would you do?” 

Hunk fixed Lance with a sympathetic stare before clapping him on the back. “You’ll figure it out, Lance. You’re a smart guy. And,” he shook his head, chuckling with awe, “it’s not exactly an easy situation. But... I think you might have more luck with your search if you look outside of Balmera. Didn’t you say your grandma said she’d found a few loose leads in the capital? Why don’t you travel with my dad, and I?” 

Lance thought on the proposition, as his thumb rubbed circle after circle into the stone. He was certainly beginning to believe that staying rooted where he’d been planted his whole life wouldn’t do him much good. He’d need a new perspective, he’d need to visit different libraries and retrieve different documents, ones he was sure weren’t just collecting dust in Hunk’s dad’s little book collection at the inn. He needed to act, needed to  _go_. 

“Thanks, Hunk--you always know what to say.” Lance gave Hunk a warm grin and reached up to ruffle his hair, knocking his headband askew. “I need to think about my options, here, but this helped. A lot.” 

“Aw, Lance,” Hunk smiled fondly, “you know I’m always here to help.” 

“Mostly,” Lance corrected playfully, “ _mostly_  here to help.” Hunk gave his shoulder a gentle shove, and the pair laughed in the quiet of the warm night, sharing a calm moment before what each of them knew would be the beginning of a new chapter of their lives. Their conversation dissolved into the usual chatter about the townsfolk, about Lance’s pitiful archery display out behind the forge, and about the recipes Hunk was eager to learn. As they talked about what Hunk’s dad cooked at the inn, Hunk’s eyes lit up.

“There was a guy who came in, today,” he informed Lance--they’d moved from sitting on the steps to lying in the grass outside of Hunk’s gate, eyes tracing different constellations they’d made up over the years. “You could just tell he wasn’t a civilian. The way he held himself was too... I dunno. It just seemed like there was a  _story_ , there, you know?” 

Lance quirked an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“Yeah!” Hunk nodded. “Said his name was Keith... something. Conway? Keith Conway? Something like that. He was looking for some Glasson guy with a burn mark on his hand. I thought of you, but you’re not a Glasson, so I didn’t say anything. But do you know anyone by that name, here?” Hunk shook his head. “I think Conway was lost. Found the wrong town. Interesting though, we never get interesting travelers around here.” 

Lance had gone quiet, his nerves alighting at the mention of someone new in Balmera looking for someone with a burn mark on their right hand. I mean, call Lance crazy, but he didn’t think that was the most common of injuries. He hummed, interested, as Hunk talked about the stranger, but began to entertain the possibility that he’d need to leave sooner than he’d thought. His uncle had offered a horse, and he was getting better at the bow and arrow, and, thanks to grandma persistence and Hunk’s expertise, he knew how to cook up a few nutritionally acceptable stews. 

After around an hour of talking on nothing in particular, Hunk bid Lance goodnight, pulling him into a warm hug and reinforcing that, no matter what, Hunk would always be there for him. Lance made a concerted effort to keep the waterworks at bay, having dealt with enough emotions for one day, thank you, and wished Hunk farewell, knowing it’d be the last time he’d see his best friend for quite a while. He set off down Hunk's front yard and made his way across Balmera's uneven cobblestones, towards the Botica family's house. 

* * *

Lance blinked blearily, lifting his head as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. Night had fallen, and he suspected the pounding in the back of his head had shaken him awake. He was leaning against a tree, and as he tried to lift himself up onto his feet, he realized his torso was tied securely to the trunk by thick, knotty rope. All at once, his memory returned, and Lance groaned. 

After leaving Hunk’s house, Lance had set out to find and apologize to his grandmother. He’d left in an aggravated rush, the other day, and couldn’t leave things the way they were--who knows how long he’d be gone? He hadn’t even  _started_  thinking about where to go, first. 

His grandmother had welcomed him with a warm smile and a steadying hug, assuring him he’d always have a place in Balmera and wishing him luck on his travels. She didn’t seem surprised that he was setting out so soon after learning of his real mother, and, oddly enough, Lance himself had begun feeling antsy and longed to get on the road. He didn’t even know what was  _on_  the road, but he was eager to find out. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t made it very far. 

Lance was a mere hour out of Balmera when he stumbled upon a pair of travelers, knelt beside a broken down carriage. There was a woman, Nyma, and a man, Rolo, and upon seeing Lance, they immediately began begging for help. Rolo had been hooking his shoulder under the carriage, trying to lift it out of thick, glue-like mud, as Nyma leaned her back against the front of the carriage and pushed steadily through her legs. Lance had barely enough time to introduce himself before they were begging him, tugging him off of his horse and over to the carriage. He was all too happy to help, of course--the Boticas had taught him compassion, charity, and he wasn’t about to forget where he came from. 

As it turned out, charity could also get you in a lot of trouble. 

Lance had been working with Rolo to lift the carriage out of the mud when his legs gave out and a burst of pain imploded in his skull. He was vaguely aware of hands on his belt, fumbling with the various pouches holding his gems and gold, and heard the thundering of his horse’s hooves growing more and more distant. At that point, Lance was pretty sure he’d blacked out. 

And, now, here he was, back against a trunk, arms tied securely to his side, and an absolutely gnarly headache pounding away at the back of his skull. He groaned again, for good measure. 

It had all happened so quickly--he could barely remember the moments between counting down to lift the carriage with Rolo and feeling the grass tickling his nose as he watched Nyma and Rolo riding away on his uncle’s horse. Lance’s stomach lurched as he remembered the pouches--from his position, he was able to search around in each one on his belt, and, feeling nothing but a few pebbles in one of the pouches, exhaled with icy resignation. It hadn’t even been a  _day_ , and he’d already fucked up.  _Badly_. 

He strained against the ropes, stretching his arms as far as the rope allowed, until he was able to push himself onto his feet. This way, he’d be able to see over the bushes, at the very least. He could see the last remnants of the sunset through the trees, his chest tightening as he realized he may not see another soul throughout the night--possibly even into the next day. 

A quick glance around him confirmed an unfortunate lack of sharp, pointy objects for rope-cutting--the closest he could find was a twig a few feet away, and even staining as hard as he could, he could only brush it with the tip of his shoe. He was doomed, here, in the dark, tied to some random tree, left without a horse and--where was his bow? He could see his arrows, scattered around the wheels of the broken carriage, but the bow was completely out of sight. 

 _Great_ , he thought.  _No horse, no weapon, no money._

Before he could think further on what a poor decision it had been to leave Balmera in the first place, he heard the familiar thud of hooves crunching on leaves and whipped his head towards noise, squinting into the night. “Hello? Hellooo?” He called out. His eyes caught movement in the brush to his left, and despite his heart thundering in his chest, he called out again. “Hey!  _Please_! I need some help, over here!” 

He listened intently to the horse’s hooves growing closer and held his breath as a large roan pushed through the bushes, swinging her head to give Lance a once over. Her rider, a man with eyes as dark as his hair and a jawline sharper than the arrowheads on his arrows, peered down at him from atop his steed, quirking an eyebrow. 

“What happened to  _you_?” 

“Oh, man, I am  _so_  glad you stopped,” Lance huffed, shaking his head. “I was robbed! And they tied me up! And  _stole_  my  _horse_!” He hadn’t planned on the whine in the back of his throat at the end, there, but he was in distress _,_  okay? 

The man glanced around at the scene before him--the scattered arrows, a few snapped in half, the hoof tracks in the mud, the abandoned, broken down carriage. He climbed down, off of his roan, and made his way towards Lance. As he grew closer, he drew his sword and swung it behind him before wedging it into the tree right beside Lance, effectively slicing the rope. Lance wasn’t proud of the shriek he’d let out, and immediately raised a hand to his achey heart as the rope fell lax at his feet. “Oh, my  _god_. You could have cut my arm off!” 

The man stared, and crossed his arms. 

“Oh, also. Thanks.” Lance added, as an afterthought. “I’m Lance.” He glanced towards the hoof tracks in the mud. “I can’t believe they took my  _horse_.” 

The man quirked a dry smile. “First time getting duped by bandits?” 

Feeling oddly accused, Lance frowned and huffed quietly. “ _No_. I mean, I guess, yeah, but--that’s not the point. How do I track those guys down?” He eyed the man. “You look like you might know something of banditry.” 

The man’s eyebrows raised and he sheathed his sword. “Why are you so suspicious? I did  _just_  save you, you know.” 

“Well, clearly, it’s harder to tell good guys from bad guys than I thought!  _You_  could be planning on taking whatever they didn’t already get. But,” Lance pushed back his hair and heaved a long, weary sigh, “you should know, those two assholes took everything I had. Except for those arrows. But they’re snapped, so that’s all you’re gonna get.” 

“I... don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man admitted. Behind him, his horse had begun sticking her nose into the carriage, sniffing around the empty boxes. 

“Who are you, anyway?” Lance questioned, crossing his arms. 

For a moment, Lance wasn’t sure the stranger was going to divulge such vital information, but to his pleasure and surprise, the man wasn’t that secretive. “I’m Keith.” 

Lance felt his jaw drop. He pointed at Keith, who eyed the extended hand suspiciously. “Keith Conway?!” 

Keith’s eyes narrowed, and Lance was sure that was a pout. “Keith  _Kogane_. How do you sort of know my last name?” 

So this  _was_  the guy! Lance couldn’t believe his... well, his misfortune, he supposed. Keith, here, was the only reason he’d left Balmera so soon--the thought of someone searching around for a kid with a burned hand sent electric chills through Lance’s spine. Did he know about Lance’s mother? Was he associated with those who had chased her through Balmera’s streets that evening? Slowly, Lance stuffed his right hand in his pocket. Couldn’t risk this guy putting two and two together, after all. He was sure he’d brought some gloves,  _something_  to cover up his mark--hopefully, those bandits had the decency to leave him  _some_  of his stuff. 

“Hey,” Keith waved a hand in front of Lance’s eyes, his tone insistent. “You’re zoning out. Who kind of told you my name?" 

Lance shrugged, trying to be nonchalant as he sized Keith up. He couldn’t take this guy in a fight, surely. Even under his loose tunic, Lance could tell he’d worked on his form, could probably take Lance out in a physical fight in a matter of seconds. He didn’t feel... threatened by Keith, per se, but he couldn’t be too careful--clearly, not being careful would cost him. Greatly. “Nobody important. Hey, so, what are you even  _doing_  in Balmera?” He quirked an eyebrow skeptically. “We don’t often get visitors, all the way out here.” 

Keith seemed to allow the momentary distraction from his question. “Oh--uh, no reason. Just traveling.” 

Lance’s raised his eyebrow even further, exaggeratedly. “ _Really._ ”

Keith cleared his throat. "Really." 

Silence hung between them for a moment, and while Lance's better instincts were firmly telling him to get the hell away from the man clearly searching for him, for whatever reason, he just couldn't seem to help himself. "So, why were you even out here? This is an hour out from Balmera, at least. Aren't you staying at the inn?" 

Keith glanced at Lance, and for a moment Lance was sure he'd connected the dots, was sure he'd figured that, in such a small village, things got around, but Keith's response quickly quelled his worries. "I never stay in the towns I visit. I... just like staying on the outskirts." Keith eyed Lance smugly. "Good thing, too, or you'd have been out here until the morning. I haven't seen anyone out here but you." 

Lance flushed, having already forgotten being tied to a tree with all (most) of his belongings gone to the wind. "Right, _okay_. I _could_ have gotten out of there by then, thank you, but you _happened_ to come along, so I figured I'd let you do all of the... fancy sword swinging. Yeah. Uh-huh." 

Keith nodded, slowly. "Really." 

Lance's eyes narrowed. "Really!" 

Keith huffed, which Lance was sure was actually a laugh, and reached for his horse's reigns. "Well, this has been fun, but I'm tired, so if you don't need anything else, I have to get going." 

The idea of being left alone to the elements, to the darkness of the night and to all of the noises that most _definitely_ weren't bunny rabbits or sparrows, sent a chill up Lance's spine and, before he realized, he'd thrown his right hand out to grab onto Keith's tunic. "Wait! You're just going to leave me here? I got _robbed_!" 

"I don't see how that's my--my problem..." Keith trailed off as his eyes fell onto the hand grasping at the fabric of his shirt and onto the weld of the royal family crest on the back of Lance's hand. 

Lance's grip on Keith's shirt went slack, but before he could wrench his hand behind his body, Keith grabbed his wrist, looking at his hand intently. 

"What's _this_?" 

Simultaneously, Lance mumbled, "Oh, _shit_." 


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance and Keith bond, and then Keith eats dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! here's the fourth chapter!! there's a lot of exposition here, but hopefully ive written lance and keith in a semi accurate way!! 
> 
> i always think of things to say here while im writing the chapter, but forget by the time i actually have to write something here so 
> 
> enjoy!!

Just a few hours beforehand, Keith had been meandering along Balmera’s cobbled streets, casually observing the villagers and noting anything of potential interest, on the side--he’d even had the mind to peer at the hands of passersby, on the off chance that the royal crest would just  _ appear _ before him. He hadn’t thought much about how difficult it would actually be, trying to find one single marked hand in a whole village, and Balmera was larger than Keith had given it credit for. 

The center was small, a circle of commercial buildings with a fountain and common area in the middle, and most of the houses were scattered around a short ways away from the hub. They were each a few trees apart, but it was clear that the families here were full and that community life was as bustling as any other village Keith had visited before. It was certainly a needle-in-a-haystack type of situation--honestly, Keith would have preferred looking for said needle to wandering around a village he didn’t know, looking for some royally-marked kid.  

But now, there he was, gripping the wrist of the  _ exact _ boy he was looking for, and on such pure  _ chance _ , too! 

Keith really couldn’t believe his luck--he’d simply been on a nighttime jaunt with Red, trying to find somewhere easy and shaded to settle for the evening. He found comfort in moving his camps frequently, during travel, and, truthfully, he’d simply gone a bit further than intended. Riding under a sheen of darkness had always comforted Keith, in a small way, but also tended to lead to some off-roading, which eventually led him to the clearing where he’d found Lance. He’d  _ heard _ Lance before he saw him, of course, shouting like a fruitcake, and nowhere in his mind did he think Lance would be exactly what he was trying to find. 

He realized he’d been staring at Lance’s hand for a few beats too long--Lance tugged it backwards and Keith let his wrist fall from his grip. He  _ still _ couldn’t believe his luck. 

“Is that the royal crest?” He questioned, not needing to feign his surprise. “What’s that doing on your hand?” 

Lance shot him a cautious, irritated look, rubbing at his wrist. “Nosy, aren’t you?” He shot back. “It was... an accident, when I was younger. But, it’s also  _ none _ of your business. ” 

“Uh... huh.” Keith nodded, slowly, his face souring at Lance’s tone. He’d gone on outings where his main objective was to capture a specific criminal or bandit and bring them back to the capital for judgement by the King, but in those situations, all he ever needed to do was club the guy, toss him onto Red’s back, and make haste back to the castle. Here, Keith felt a bit... stuck. “Defensive, aren’t you?” 

“Uh, we  _ just _ met, so forgive me for not wanting to talk with you about my personal life,” Lance bent to retrieve his snapped arrows, twisting them in his hands mournfully. “Besides, I’m a bit too preoccupied here to worry about your odd interest in my odd burn.” He swung his hands out, gesturing into the night. “I was  _ robbed _ , need I remind you, and...” He took a deep breath, glancing at the broken arrows on the forest floor. “And I’m going to need to get that stuff back.” 

Keith frowned. Not only did this kid really get on his nerves--just a few moments ago, Keith had lent a helping hand, and here this kid was,  _ completely _ set on antagonizing him--but now he wanted to follow after the very people who had put him in this predicament?

He rubbed at his eyes for a moment before striding over to an small boulder at the edge of the clearing, taking a seat, leaning forward, and putting his elbows on his knees. “What do you need? Money? A map?” 

Lance’s eyes widened and his hands flew to his belt, checking the pouches once, then twice. He whined, as if pained by his discovery (or lack thereof), and dropped to his hands and knees, his hands brushing through the dirt and grass around the trunk of the tree he’d previously been tied to. “Oh, no,” He breathed, then groaned, loud enough for Red to start, turning her head to watch Lance as she munched on a cattail. He pushed himself off of the ground, brushing the dirt off of his pants. A deep worry line had set in between his brows. “Yeah, there’s  _ definitely _ stuff I need to get back.” 

Keith bit the inside of his cheek, unsure how to respond to Lance's distress. “How do you plan on doing that, even? You don’t have a bow, or money, or a map--your only weapons are those broken arrows. You’ll be killed before you can even draw the... pointy half.” 

Lance turned on him, anger alight in his bright blue eyes. “Okay, what’s  _ your _ problem? Why are you even still here?” He put his hands on his hips. “I need to get my things back, and I don’t have time for,” Lance swung his hand in circles, gesturing to Keith, “all of  _ this _ . So, thank you brave soul for cutting the rope that bound me, but I do believe we’re done here.” 

Keith huffed in disbelief, put out with Lance’s untoward hostility, and gestured to the carriage. “I’m  _ just _ saying, if they tricked you with the broken carriage act, you won’t last more than a day without help.” Keith rolled his eyes and shook his head, scoffing harshly. “I mean, that’s the oldest trick in the book!” 

Lance flushed, grinding his teeth and clenching his hands into fists. “Well, I haven't  _ read _ the book, okay!” 

Keith's face scrunched up in confusion. “Well--there isn’t  _ really _ a book, I was just--” 

“I know!” Lance threw his hands up, his voice cracking with exasperation. “God. I  _ know _ that, I just--I’ve never been outside of Balmera before now, so of  _ course _ , I didn’t see it coming.” He sighed, rubbing at his temple. He began to pace. “I really thought they needed help, okay?” 

Keith stalled, his mouth hanging open. “You--you’ve  _ never _ been outside of that village, and now you want to travel  _ alone _ , unarmed and without any money?” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’ve got a death wish, apparently.” 

In that moment, as if summoned by a passing spirit of the woods, Shiro’s voice rang in his ears-- _ unharmed, and willing.  _

Well, shit. 

It seems he’d blessed his good fortune too soon, and here it was, coming back to bite him straight in the ass. Lance was set on pursuing the thieves, clearly, and Keith was well aware that he didn’t have the leverage to get Lance to forget about the bandits’ slight and accompany Keith to the capital. Seeing no quicker solution to his clear problem of getting Lance to return with him,  _ willingly _ , Keith relented. “I’ll come with you. To get your stuff back.” 

Lance’s head whipped around, his stupefaction clear in the way his brows arched. “Huh? A second ago you were poking fun, and now you just want to tag along?” 

Keith shot him a look of immense doubt. “Do you  _ actually _ think you can do it without me?” 

Lance paused in his pacing and put his hands on his hips, sizing Keith up incredulously. “You just think you’re all that, huh?” He barked a laugh. “Look, I’d rather go alone, and risk them taking the clothes off of my back and keep the rest of my stuff, than rely on your help, Mr. I-Cut-A-Rope-Once.” 

Keith’s eyebrows lowered at the nickname. “ _ Really _ .” 

Lance huffed, crossing his arms. “Yeah,  _ really _ .” 

Momentarily, they fell silent, staring each other down from across the clearing. Somewhere, crickets were chirping, blissfully unaware of the tense energy drowning the clearing.

“Although,” Lance rubbed his chin, “I  _ do _ want my stuff back, and… I guess your help can’t hurt.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Keith snorted and, searching for confirmation, added, “So… I’m coming with you.” 

“Yeah, yes, you’re coming with,” Lance waved the issue away, striding over to the carriage and sighing, softly. “I admit, it’ll be... easier with you there.” 

It seemed their previous quarrel was already gone to the wind, and Keith breathed out tension he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, relieved. He was keenly aware that embarking on a search for Lance’s stolen property would really up the risk of Lance returning willing, but harmed. One out of two wasn’t so bad, right? 

In any case, he knew he’d have to pay close attention to Lance and their surroundings--Keith hadn’t been there when those bandits had jumped him, and thus couldn’t say whether they were the type of thieves to give it all up after an adequate amount of threatening, or if they were of the more… belligerent variety. 

Absently, he brushed his fingers across the hilt of the dagger fastened to his hip, envisioning potential worst-case scenarios, until he realized Lance was impatiently waving him over to the toppled carriage. 

“Hey, hello?” Lance called. “Do you think we can use this? It doesn’t look  _ too _ broken.” 

Keith strode over to where Lance was standing and examined the state of the carriage--in some places, the wood was chipping, but the worst of it seemed to be the twigs jammed in the wheels. Keith knelt beside the carriage, frowning, and reached for a long, crooked sprig. As he pulled at the splintered twigs, loosening and tossing them aside, he realized the bandits had been lying about more than just needing help with a broken ride. “Actually… it’s not broken, at all.” 

Lance stared at Keith, for a beat, looking discouraged. “So… there wasn’t ever even a problem in the first place.” He rubbed his eyes. “God  _ damn _ it.” 

Keith felt for him, he really did--many who took up the highwayman’s lifestyle learned to think outside the box, pinpointing the best way to utilize the human desire to help and turn it against somebody. He tugged harshly at a particularly stuck pair of twigs. “They sound tricky, we’ll have to be careful.” He finished clearing out the twigs and, after testing the wheels a bit, he stood. “We can use this, actually. Tomorrow, I’ll attach my horse to the front, and at first light, we can get going.” 

“Oh,” Lance nodded, looking relieved and vaguely lost. “Okay, great. How should I--what should I do? To help.” 

“Uh,” Keith stared at him for a moment before gesturing to the boulder he’d been sitting on before. “Go over there.” 

Lance crossed his arms, frowning, but strode over to sit on the boulder, regardless. Keith occupied himself with removing the twigs from the last wheel, unsure of exactly how to delegate to a stranger without his skillset. He’d taken the lead on a mission or two, before, but had never felt particularly comfortable doling out orders--Keith had always been more of a “if you want something done right, do it yourself” type of operator. 

As Lance pulled a couple of pebbles out of his pouch, examining them intently, Keith rounded the carriage. He grabbed the edge of the carriage, making a face as the caked mud crumbled under his hands, and tugged upwards. His boots sank into the mud and his forearms burned, and Keith let the carriage drop the mere foot he’d been able to lift it with a huff. He’d need to get underneath it and push with his legs, he decided--the bulk of the resistance was in the mud’s firm grip on the wood. 

Keith gave it another sporting try, managing to lift the side of the carriage onto his shoulder as he ground his teeth, but his thighs burned with the weight and the wood dug into the crook of his neck. For a moment, he almost lost his grip entirely, when he heard footsteps coming towards him and Lance, at his back, hooking his own shoulder underneath the wooden carriage. “ _ Whoa _ , there,” Lance breathed, and on an unspoken count, they both pushed upwards with all the strength their legs could provide. The carriage teetered onto its wheels, dangerously close to tipping back the other direction, before settling into the dirt with a  _ thud _ . 

“Phew!” Lance brushed the dirt off his hands and picked at a splinter, glancing over at Keith. “I guess we’re even now, huh?”

“ _ Hardly _ ,” Keith huffed a grateful laugh, glancing over at Lane approvingly. “But thanks.”  

Lance stared at him for a beat before rubbing the back of his neck, smiling softly. It was the first time Lance had genuinely smiled at him, Keith realized--maybe this would go smoother than expected, after all. “No problem, just--ask if you need help, yeah? We’re going to be traveling together, after all.” 

Keith felt pinned by Lance’s bright eyes, and a wave of embarrassment passed through him. “Uh--anyway.” He turned towards where Red had been observing their struggle and began to remove the various pouches attached to her saddle. Rather than giving Lance a proper response, Keith settled for clearing his throat and moving along. “We should make camp here and rest before tomorrow. We’ll want to cover a lot of ground.” 

“Right, right,” Lance responded breezily, nodding. “I call riding in the carriage tomorrow, by the way. I deserve it, after the day I’ve had.” 

* * *

Keith woke earlier than Lance, sitting up and drinking in the stillness of the morning as Red snored into his pack. She must have found a couple of the apples he’d packed for the road, but Keith couldn’t chastise her, in good conscience, knowing she’d be pulling the small carriage along their route. As with any horse, running free would always be preferable to lugging along a wooden cart, attached by the saddle, but if it meant Keith didn’t have to ride double-saddle with some random guy, well... could Red really blame him?

In fact, she  _ did _ blame him, evident in the way she stomped her hooves and snorted hot air into Keith’s face as he hooked up her saddle to the front of the carriage, but she quickly relented with every ruby red apple or perfectly ripened banana presented to her. Pulling a stranger in a carriage may not be her favorite, but Keith knew she could always be bribed. 

Lance woke up sometime during Red’s fit, blearily watching as Keith gave her peace offering after offering, before gathering up his own things, what little he had left. They set out pretty quickly after Lance woke, Lance rubbing at his eyes from in the carriage and Keith scanning the woods around them as they made their way out of the forest. He’d double checked the note from Shiro, the night before, just to be sure they weren’t about to walk straight through another hotspot, but it seemed they’d be okay, for the time being. There was nothing ahead but woods, woods, and more woods. 

Though it could be monotonous, Keith never truly tired of wandering the country. The differences between environments and their flora and fauna were striking--he still remembered the first time he’d seen the canyons in the west and the sea in the east. He’d only had the south, an ecosystem that was in equal measure humid forests and arid plains, to go by, and seeing the way the Earth seemed to split apart to create the canyons, or the calm that washed over him as the waves lapped at the shore… they were magical experiences, to say the least. 

Keith glanced over his shoulder at his traveling companion. Lance was hunched over his broken arrows, determined to patch them up using some borrowed twine, courtesy of Keith. Shiro had made sure Keith had all of the essentials checked off, before leaving the capital--light, packable food, extra clothes, and a few healing herbs that only needed a healer’s expert touch to turn to medicine, mostly, along with a few miscellaneous items, such as twine and a small bottle of ale. 

Lance swore as an arrow fell apart in his hands, and tossed the broken pieces aside. He noticed Keith watching his efforts and scowled. “They didn’t need to break my arrows,” he groused. 

Keith snorted. “Bandits don’t  _ need _ to do any of what they do.”  

Lance sighed, dispirited, as Keith turned to face forward, patting Red’s neck absently. They’d need to track these bandits down, speaking of, and, truthfully, Keith wasn’t exactly sure how to do that. 

They could be  _ anywhere _ , by now, and with the only clue from the crime scene being the soft hoof marks in the dirt, leading down the path away from Balmera, they didn’t have much to go off of. He’d agreed to tracking down the bandits hastily, seeing an opportunity in the exchange of good deeds--he’d scratch Lance’s back, Lance would scratch his. He’d retrieve Lance’s stolen goods, Lance, in turn, should hold no issue with being escorted back to the capital and, specifically, to an audience with the King. 

At least they had  _ some _ sort of lead to follow--the line of horse hoof tracks was their best bet, right now, and if  _ those _ ran out, well… they’d just cross that bridge when they got there, yeah?

When he’d checked Shiro’s note, the space Keith had stumbled upon Lance had indeed been just around one of the areas rife with bandit activity, and Keith suspected the thieves had struck there before. It was an optimal location, for it--far enough out of the village to create a scene, but close enough for them to catch travelers completely unawares. 

“Hey, so, what’s your deal, anyway?” 

Keith cast a puzzled glance over his shoulder. “My deal?” 

“Yeah,” Lance pressed, adamant, “I mean, I don’t know  _ anything _ about you--I know you said you were ‘just traveling,’” Lance threw up a pair of air quotations, “but neither of us believe that, right?” 

Keith narrowed his eyes, almost entirely out of instinct, and Lance raised his hands defensively. “I just wanna know a bit more about the guy I’m traveling with, that’s all.” 

Keith glanced stared at the passing trees to his right as Red trotted along, Lance in his periphery, and pressed his lips into a line. He hadn’t had the sense to come up with a proper cover story, and both times he’d been asked before, his answer was shoddy and unconvincing, especially considering the point Lance had just brought up. He’d need to figure out something stronger than  _ hopeful wanderer _ , who just  _ happened _ to have a royal-grade sword and  _ certainly _ didn’t have any royally embroidered clothes and chainmail stuffed away in one of his many pouches. 

“Hello?” Lance waved an arrow at him. “Keith? Have I lost you, already?” 

Keith stammered. “ _ No _ , I’m just--ugh. What do you want to know?” 

Lance pursed his lips thoughtfully, tilting his head to consider the clouds. “Well… where are you from?” 

After gnawing on his bottom lip, for a moment, Keith sighed heavily. “I’m from the capital, but originally I’m from further South, by our border with the Galran Empire. I moved to the capital when I was younger.” 

Lance hummed, intrigued. “What were you doing in the capital?”  

“Uh,” Keith fiddled with Red’s reins, his fingers rubbing circles into the leather, and swallowed. “Just working, whatever jobs I could find.” He could feel Lance staring expectantly at his back, and knew he’d have to choke up at least a  _ few _ details, for his sake. “I worked with the blacksmith, mostly. Some mercenary work, on the side. That kind of thing.” 

Lance nodded, the broken arrows forgotten in his lap. The carriage wobbled as it rolled through a particularly uneven part of the trail, and a bird called shrilly across the canopies. “So… what’s the capital like?” 

Keith thought on the question for a moment, relieved of the duty of stepping on eggshells around the topic of what, exactly, Keith was doing so far away from the capital. “It’s... big,” he settled on. “There’s a lot to see, all the time. All kinds of people come to the capital to trade, so you can get pretty much anything you’d want at any of the weekly bazaars.” Keith quirked a smile, envisioning the cobbled streets lit by lanterns of various shapes and sizes, all colored to match the occasion--his favorites were the seasonal bazaars, meant to welcome the coming of a new phase of the moon, sun, and stars. The autumn bazaar was striking--lanterns in vermillion and amber illuminated the streets and the stalls of vendors calling out to passersby, dressed in their evening’s best, adorned with jewels and festive accoutrements fit for welcoming the change of the tides.

The bazaars were only  _ part _ of what made the capital so lively and welcoming, however. “Even when vendors aren’t all over the main streets,” Keith continued, softened with nostalgia, “the backstreets are full of interesting finds. I once bought a little knight statue who’s sword doubled as a letter opener, in one of those shops.” He paused, following a memory trail down a few of the back alleys he had familiarized himself with over the years. “Another time, I found a pin painted with lapis lazuri from the northwest. It’s as beautiful as people say it is. It  _ shines _ , somehow. It’s a completely different blue from the amazonite we have around the capital.”  

Lance perked up with interest. “Lapis lazuri? We have that in Balmera! Not a lot, but you see it, sometimes.” His tone grew wistful. “There’s a lake with all kinds of gems, not too far.” Lance eyed him curiously. “You like rocks?” 

Keith snorted. “Yeah, I like rocks.”

“Me, too.” 

Keith took the chance to drive conversation away from himself. “What kind of rocks do you like?”

Lance smiled widely and sat forward, a fond lilt in his tone. “Well, that lake that I mentioned--there are these red gems, down at the bottom. You really have to dig around for them, too, but it’s  _ worth _ it. They’re…” Lance’s face pinched in concentration, “it’s like there’s a storm going on, inside the stone. If that makes sense. They’re called opals, and my grandma says there are all kinds of colors, but I can’t imagine there are any prettier than the red ones.” He pouted. “I had some, actually, in my satchel, but those damn thieves nicked those, too.” Keith heard Lance flop back against the wood of the carriage with a noise of discontentment. 

“Is  _ that _ what you want to get back, so badly?” Keith asked, incredulous. They could find those somewhere--surely, they didn’t need to retrieve a few specific stones. 

“No, no,” Lance’s voice grew strained, and Keith, who was now practically sitting sideways on Red’s back, fully engaged in their conversation, quirked an eyebrow. “Before I left Balmera, my grandma gave me a compass, and I just… I can’t lose it. It’s the only thing I have from her, and without it I feel a bit…” Lance laughed softly, “Lost.” 

“Oh,” Keith felt as if his dagger had become leaden steel, heavy on his belt. “I know the feeling.” 

They rode on for another few hours, as Lance fussed over his arrows and Keith steered Red along the trail Lance’s horse had left, reaching around every so often to reward Red’s hard work with tender halves of apples, before Keith decided they should make camp in a creekside grove, just off the path. 

Keith unhooked Red from the carriage and ran his hands along her back as she finished off the apple halves he’d left on the grass in front of her. She’d acted the mule a couple of times before, lugging Keith’s things and whatever else their outing entailed for as long as Keith needed, and would certainly do so, again, but Keith could never resist showering her in rewards for long days of travel.  _ Yes _ , she was a horse, and some of Keith’s peers in the knighthood would even argue that she was merely doing what was expected of her, as a knight’s horse. In Keith’s view, though, Red could do  _ whatever _ she wanted, irrespective of what  _ Keith _ wished, yet she chose to hang around, despite all of the chances Keith had left open for her to run for it. 

He rubbed at the spot beneath her ears, even crooned a bit, before returning to responsibility. They’d need proper firewood, and while Keith had packed a few proteins, such as dried meat and a variety of nuts, it wouldn’t be enough for two people, by any means. As it happens, foraging was one of Keith’s favorite things about traveling. Different regions had vastly different flora and fauna, and it was always interesting to see which types of flowers he could expect along traveling trails, or whether to expect a jackrabbit or a brush bunny to hop across his path. 

Keith had never been this far north, and had a very shaky idea of what the northern woods would provide for them. He’d occasionally caught a deer off guard, only able to kill close-range, and would frequently wander the wild for interesting, appetizing berries. 

The berries in the south were varied, in both color and size. Keith’s favorite was a small berry, with skin so dark blue they were nearly black, adorned with small seeds that gave the impression of gems, but there were many different types--large, amorphous red berries and perfectly rounded green berries, alike. There were even hazelnut-sized berries, orange like a monarch’s wings, that could kill a man as soon as they hit the digestive system--Keith had always considered it a forbidden fruit. Despite their lethal effect, they never failed to make his mouth water.

So, long story short, Keith spent around an hour meandering the bushes, poking and prodding at the interesting assortment of berries and fruits he was able to find. Thankfully, he’d stumbled upon an apple tree and a particularly giving peach tree--one of Red’s favorite treats. Peach trees didn’t take to the climate in the south, and while Keith  _ could _ spend twice as much as they were worth on a bucket in one of the capital’s bazaars, finding them in nature like this was far preferable. Keith was equally as excited about the pouchful of ruby red berries he’d found--they were small, and looked similarly to his favorites from back home, but rather than the darker hue, they were a vivid red. 

One berry bush caught his eye, brought his mind back to the forbidden orange berries from the South. They were smaller than the ones he’d seen, and their coloring was far less saturated, colored closer to the inside of an orange peel. Out of sheer curiosity, and a nagging desire to figure out if this orange fruit was as deadly as what he could find at home, he grabbed a handful. Keith pressed on for firewood and, once he had a satisfying armful, brought his findings back to the camp, where Lance was tossing pebbles into the creek. 

He’d rolled his pants up, a bit, and was peering intently into the water, picking up and examining pebbles and rocks and vetting them based on what Keith assumed was aesthetics. He’d made a nice little pile on the shore, beside him, and looked up as Keith stepped into the clearing. “Oh, hi, welcome back. Find anything?” 

Keith nodded. “I found a lot--even peaches, for Red.” 

Lance whistled with a grin and a teasing tone. “You’re a natural survivalist, Keith.”  

“I  _ am _ ,” Keith said defensively, and dropped the firewood he’d gathered unceremoniously onto the ground and set to organizing his berries. He dumped the red berries onto a cloth alongside the orange berries, and stored the apples and peaches in his pack. 

“Wait,” Lance strained his neck from his spot in the middle of the brook to catch a better look at Keith’s treasure trove, “why’d you pick  _ those _ ?” 

Keith glanced between Lance and the berries before making a soft noise of understanding. “I was actually wondering if you could tell me--these are poisonous up north, as well, right?” He held up one of the orange berries, appreciating the way the sunlight accented its color. 

“No,” Lance shook his head, confused, and pointed at the hearty pile of red berries in front of Keith, “I mean  _ those _ .  _ They’re _ the poisonous ones.” 

Keith blanched and glanced down at the red berries. “They are?” 

“Uh,  _ yeah _ , they are,” Lance stepped out of the brook and sat a few feet away, stretching his legs out. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to kill me, Keith? Planning on feeding me some poisonous berry pie?” 

“No!” Keith exclaimed defensively. “Of course not.” 

Lance hums contemplatively, and then, as if speaking to a five-year-old, emphasized, “Red is bad. Orange is good. Green is good. Black is good. Blue is bad.” After a moment, Lance tilted his head to the side. “Well, sometimes. Blue is bad,  _ sometimes _ .” 

Keith stared at Lance incredulously before relenting, shaking his head. “Maybe  _ you _ should look for the berries, until we’re closer to home.” 

Lance tilted his head back with the force of a ringing laugh, placing his palm on his chest. “ _ Yeah _ , maybe I should.” 

They settled into tasks of their own, for the rest of the evening--Lance gathered a few more handfuls of the orange berries and set back to fixing up the remaining arrows while Keith set to work lighting a fire. A breeze was rolling through the clearing, gentle enough not to send anything flying but weighted enough to give Keith a difficult time, for quite a while. 

He managed to spark a continuous light just as the sun set beneath the horizon, and as he settled into a spot near the fire, Lance made his way over, as well. He dropped down across the fire from Keith, glancing between them rapidly, antsy. 

“What?” Keith pressed, irritated with the staring. 

Lance jumped, seeming startled to be called out, and cleared his throat, a flush on his cheeks. “Nothing, I was just--wondering.” 

“About?” 

“Well,” Lance shrugged, “why were you even in Balmera, anyway?” He frowned. “And don’t feed me that ‘innocent traveler’ bullshit, yeah?” 

Keith’s eyes narrowed, his tone cutting around the edges. “It’s not bullshit. I’m traveling. What’s so hard to believe about that?” 

“It wouldn’t be so hard to believe if it wasn’t  _ you _ ,” Lance snapped, gesturing towards Keith wildly. “I mean, you came all the way to Balmera from the capital, which doesn't happen often. You’re riding a horse that could probably outrun the Galran Emperor’s own steed, and don’t think that me not mentioning the royal-grade sword sticking out of your horse’s pouch means I haven’t noticed it.” Lance shook his head, eyes wide in disbelief. “I mean, Keith, who  _ are _ you?” 

Lance made some… sound points, Keith had to admit. He wasn’t exactly sure where this was all coming from, though--he’d let himself think he was off the hook. Clearly, Lance was more apt than he was giving him credit for. 

He kicked himself for forgetting to do something with his sword, as well--the hilt had been melded with the royal crest, and, as per all swords of the knighthood, embellished with rubies and quartz stones. Of  _ course _ Lance had noticed it. 

“I,” Keith glanced at Red, drinking gently from the brook, “I stole it. And the horse. That’s why I’m all the way out here.” 

Lance’s eyes widened. “What? You stole a knight’s sword and a  _ horse _ , and ran away to… Balmera, of all places?” 

Keith nodded quickly, hoping the firelight wasn’t bright enough to reveal the way Keith’s adam’s apple bobbed with a nervous gulp. “Yeah.” 

Lance’s frown deepened. “Why?” 

“I stole some bread, got caught by the guard, and grabbed one of their swords and horses on the way out of the capital.” Keith shifted his eyes to the fire, not trusting that Lance wouldn’t see straight through his lie. “I came to Balmera because it was far enough that I wouldn’t be caught, and by the time I’m back in the capital, things will have settled down.” His eyes flickered back up to Lance’s. “Satisfied?” 

Lance shifted under Keith’s gaze, but seemed to accept his story. “Yeah, that’s… I mean. Wow. All of that, just over some lousy bread.” 

“Yeah, and,” Keith cleared his throat, not needing to feign discomfort, “if you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss it.” 

“Oh, okay,” Lance nodded understandingly, and Keith exhaled in relief. “Sorry I brought it up, I just… This is the first time I’ve ever been this far from the village, and honestly, I already feel lost. I mean,” Lance gave a bitter chuckle, “I  _ already _ got robbed, and now I’m traveling with someone who… also robs. Huh.” Lance gave Keith a skeptical look. “Do I have to worry about  _ you _ stealing my stuff?” He held his hands up. “Full disclosure, I don’t have any bread.” 

Lance jumped at Keith’s sudden laughter, and even Keith was mildly surprised. He covered his mouth as he cleared his throat of the giggles, trying to gain  _ some _ modicum of composure. “Well, in that case, you have nothing to fear from me.” 

Lance  _ finally _ quirked a smile, and Keith felt the knot in his chest relax, in response. He leaned back, his fingers brushing the grass beneath him, and exhaled deeply. Keith tilted his face to look at the sky and, for the first time, appreciated the way the stars seemed to shine brighter, out in the middle of the wilderness. Lance made himself comfortable, using one of the shirts Shiro had pushed onto Keith before he’d left as a pillow, and once Lance’s breathing evened out, Keith felt his muscles relaxing. 

He stretched out, a bit, and rolled a peach across the ground to where Red had laid down and was snoring, softly. It’d make a nice morning surprise, he was sure--peaches were her _absolute_ _favorite_. 

Neither Keith nor Red slept through to the morning, as it turned out--Keith woke blearily to Lance’s voice, rife with anger and edgy with fear, unable to make out what was happening with the absence of the fire's glow. Somebody tangled their fingers in his hair, tugged him upwards, and promptly delivered a sharp blow to the back of the head. Keith heard Lance shout and fell to the ground, registering only the grass tickling his face before slipping into unconsciousness

**Author's Note:**

> http://cardboarddoxin.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing <\-- here's where the old fics are, thanks so much for reading, yall!


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